


The Things We've Lost

by ThePhilosophicalCheesewheel



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blue soul (Integrity), Confused Frisk, Determination, Eventual Friendship, First Fanfiction, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Green Soul (Kindness), Grief, Light blue soul (Patience), Mentions of Fallen Humans, No puns from the skeleton . . . until chapter 17, Older Frisk, Orange soul (Bravery), POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Purple Soul (Perseverance), Sad Sans, Sans is as shattered as a broken mirror, Timeline Shenanigans, True Lab (Undertale), Weekly Updates, Yellow soul (Justice), all that good stuff, general sadness, pain and suffering, past deaths, post-genocide run
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 69,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePhilosophicalCheesewheel/pseuds/ThePhilosophicalCheesewheel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We've both lost things - people, memories, hopes. Now, Sans, I think it's time we gain."</p><p>Frisk has successfully freed monsterkind from the Underground. Nine years have past, and a sixteen-year-old Frisk lives happily on the surface with their friends. Training with Undyne. Watching anime with Alphys. Cooking and living with Toriel and staying over at the skelebros'.</p><p>Yet Frisk finds themselves back in the Underground, their life on the surface gone, with only a grief-stricken, unstable skeleton for company.</p><p>
  <b>Updates once every week.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fallen Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya!
> 
> So, this is my first fanfiction. Yeah, I'm not kidding. I'm usually one of those people who skulk around here, reading fanfiction when I'm supposed to be asleep (whoops). But, after many months of this said skulking, I guess I decided to have a shot at writing something?
> 
> So, yes. I have no idea if this is like a new Undertale AU or something. Either way, it happens after a Genocide Run.
> 
> But some things are . . . different . . .
> 
> Also, strongly advised that you have either played the game beforehand or know a decent amount about Undertale before reading. Stupid warning -- I know -- but ayy.
> 
> And another thing, feel free to throw criticism at me. I'm open to that. Go ahead! Criticism is great, so if you have any constructive feedback go ahead and comment it!
> 
> Enjoy . . .

The human woke, but did not immediately open their eyes. Warmth from the sun smothered them, along with clothing that felt too thick and too heavy to be their pyjamas. Their bed was softer than usual. Almost . . . strangely soft. It felt less like a mattress and more like they were lying in a garden.

Frisk’s brown eyes opened slowly, the sunlight from above glaring in its brightness. The human clenched their fingers and flinched when they found themselves gripping soft, flimsy substances instead of their mattress. They withdrew their fingers in surprise. _Where . . . am I . . .?_ Frisk thought, their eyes still blinded from the light above. They tentatively felt the surface beneath them with their right hand. A chill washed over them, drenching them in ice water despite the warm sun. They swallowed, trying to rid the dry sensation in their mouth and slowly sat up.

Their eyes adjusted to the light. Their eyes widened and the urge to screamed struck them suddenly as though they were hit by lightning. _No . . ._

They sat in a bed of flowers. Golden flowers.

“No . . .” Frisk said aloud, their voice hoarse and feeble. “No!” They seized fistfuls of golden flowers, willing them not to be real as they looked around in panic.

The Underground. More specifically, where they had fallen nine years ago, back when they were seven. They could still remember it vividly, even when they lived on the surface: the sunlight beating down on them from above through the hole in which they had fallen; the bed of golden flowers cushioning their body, the petals tickling their calves and face; the soil moistening the back of their blue-and-pink sweater; the clumps of dirt caught through their short brown hair . . .

The sun washed them in fingers of yellow light. Golden flowers surrounded them and brushed against their skin. The back of their sweater was saturated with damp soil and haphazard petals. Dirt rained from their hair as their head turned.

It was all the same, the same as it was all those years ago. But, somehow, Frisk was here again.

Frisk took a deep breath and closed their eyes. _Don’t panic. There must be a valid explanation for this._ _This must be dream, right?_ Frisk was no stranger to nightmares. They had them almost every night after they and their friends, along with all monsterkind, made it to the surface. But the frequency of the nightmares decreased over the years to the point of the human perhaps experiencing one or two every two months. But this was a nightmare that seemed to be too real to just be a dream.

The human opened their eyes again, but they were still sitting in the bed of golden flowers. Their heart hammered from behind their ribcage. A bead of sweat trickled down their forehead.

“Why am I here?” They croaked, glancing around frantically, the very sight making them more anxious. “How am I here? Is this a dream? I don’t understand!” Frisk’s voice was desperate. “Somebody – a-anybody – please!?”

The human drew their knees up to their chest, the cold feeling in their sternum having spread, making their fingertips numb. They covered their face with their hands, their mind trying to pick up the pieces.

_How am I here? I didn’t reset. Did someone take me here? Was it Flowey? But how can he? He’s down here – after all – and he doesn’t have the ability to do something like this. And he wouldn’t, either, not after he turned back into Asriel . . ._

Frisk knew that it couldn’t be Flowey. After the barrier was broken, several hours later, Frisk had returned to the Underground to convince Flowey to come along with the rest of monsterkind. But he had refused. Frisk instead visited him every fortnight, bringing gifts on his birthday (which he reluctantly told after much prying) and telling stories of the monsters on the surface. He always acted nonchalant to their visits, but Frisk could tell that the flower enjoyed their company.

Frisk was immediately pulled out of their stupor at the sound of movement. They quickly removed their hands and listened, straining to hear. It sounded as though it was coming towards them from the door to the Ruins.

“F-flowey . . .?” Frisk asked gingerly, peering into the darkness of the door.

A bright cyan-and-yellow circle appeared in the darkness, coming closer to Frisk. As it came closer, Frisk could make out the outline of a short figure. As the figure entered the light of the room, Frisk let out a gasp as they identified the signature blue hoodie, those baggy shorts and pink slippers . . .

“S-sans?!” Frisk exclaimed, their voice bordering on a squeak.

Sans’s head was covered by the hood, in which Frisk could only see that bright cyan-and-yellow orb that they assumed was his left eye. Stains of the same colours tainted his hoodie, and his pink slippers were peppered likewise. Nevertheless, Frisk almost leapt to their feet to greet their friend . . . and to ask what was going on.

Before they had even managed to stand, Sans, as quick as a whip, extended his left hand – which was suddenly wreathed in a lashing, cerulean blue. The skeleton drew his hand back, and Frisk felt their soul abruptly tear from their chest, the glowing crimson being soon replaced by a dark blue that smothered its surface. The human yelped as they fell onto their stomach on the ground, their soul glowing dark blue and suddenly heavy, their body pressed down by an invisible force.

They had experience this before when they battled Papyrus, all those years ago. But never from Sans. Sans never showed any evidence of having the same magic . . . except for that one time, three years ago when Frisk was thirteen and staying at the skelebros’ house. Apart from that incident, the skeleton never demonstrated any of his magic, apart from his ‘shortcuts’. Frisk always assumed that he was too lazy to.

Apparently not.

“S-sans – what –?” Their soul was suddenly even heavier and they cried out as they were pressed further into the dirt.

“y o u,” Sans practically spat, his voice dark and laced with anger. Keeping his left hand splayed, used his right to pull back the hood. Frisk let out a startled cry.

The human was expecting the familiar, grinning skull with glowing white pupils in the middle of his dark eye sockets. Instead, Sans’s signature, easy-going grin was replaced by a mouth curled into a vicious smile – the corners of his mouth spread too wide, his teeth bared and resembling more of a snarl. His right eye socket was devoid of its pupil. His left, however, held a glowing cyan-and-yellow orb with a small circle of black in the centre, practically filling up his entire socket. From it, slowly leaked a liquid; a viscous blend of cyan and yellow, scoring the left side of his face in thick drops. The droplets slid down his cheekbone and onto his shoulders, where they stained his hoodie with more of the mysterious mixture. His expression was darker than the night.

This was not the Sans Frisk knew. That eye was focused on Frisk with such intensity – an uneasy feeling crawled down their back.

“y o u,” Sans repeated, the phalanges of his left hand curling towards his palm: Frisk’s soul squeezed painfully and they let out a scream. “y o u  h a v e  s o m e  n e r v e  c o m i n g  b a c k  h e r e.”

“S-sans,” Frisk whispered, their voice as rough as sandpaper. They spluttered under his influence of their soul. “P-please, I –”

“i  d o n ’ t  w a n t  t o  h e a r  a n y t h i n g  y o u  h a v e  t o  s a y **.”** Sans raised his left arm, and Frisk was quickly wrenched off the ground and sent dangling in the air. They kicked their legs madly, fear and terror replacing the ice in their core. Sans swung his arm back down – Frisk slammed into the earth once more with such ferocity, the impact shook their bones. A shriek tore itself from their throat.

 _you look rattled . . . to the_ bone, Frisk’s Sans would say. This was not their Sans.

But here was no doubt that something was wrong here. Sans was their friend, so why was he attacking them? Why were they down here? What happened to his eye? Why weren’t they up on the surface?

 **“** i  d o n ‘ t  w a n t  t o  h e a r  a  s i n g l e  w o r d  f r o m  y o u,” the skeleton growled, raising the human and smashing them back onto the ground again. “n o t  a f t e r  y o u  k i l l e d  e v e r y o n e.  n o t  a f t e r  y o u  k i l l e d  _p a p y r u s_ ** _._** ”

Despite the pain they were in, confusion pushed away their terrified expression. Frisk struggled to raise themselves under the gravity on their soul. The familiar fire of determination sparked inside them, and they fought against the blue of their soul. They groaned as they pushed against it, lifting their head enough so they could see his face. Anger burned in that one glowing eye, and his expression practically screamed _murder_. But there was pain there, pain and anguish that undermined his features, chipping away at it.

Something was wrong. Sans was hurt. Frisk’s heart tugged with mercy.

“I-I didn’t kill P-paps –”

“l  i  a  r **.** ” Sans let go of their soul and, before Frisk could breathe a sigh of relief, an array of bones materialised above his head and he launched them at them. The bones swept towards them, and the human quickly jumped to their feet and leapt over them. They mistimed, however, and a stray femur struck their right foot. Frisk flinched and dropped to their knees, a feeling like hot nails drilling into their ankle and their soul flickering like a struggling flame. They looked up at Sans fearfully and blinked away tears.

Sans appeared confused. The corners of Sans’s smile had dipped, his brow bones creasing. His outstretched hand – still glowing blue – drawing back a fraction, the magic sputtering. The glow of his one eye dimmed slightly, the thick droplets leaking from it ceasing. Frisk took advantage of this opportunity.

“I didn’t kill Papyrus,” they said, their voice gaining confidence with the help of the determination that coursed through their. They rose and attempted to put weight on their right foot, but pain flared and lashed along their veins; thick, scorching wire working its way up their leg. They looked down on it, and a blotchy, purple bruise was starting to mar the skin _._ Frisk gritted their teeth and rested most of their weight on their left foot instead. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

Sans’s smile curled back into a snarl, and his left hand glowed a brighter blue. His one eye flared brighter and a large, skeletal head suddenly materialised above him. It was about the same size as him, and resembled that of the skull of a dragon or a goat. Cyan and yellow stained its bones and leaked from its empty eye sockets. It faced them, whirring like a drill, that colossal maw clacking and flashing its teeth.

Frisk stumbled back into the flowers, the golden petals stroking the skin of their calves. _What . . . is that thing . . .?_

“oh, you,” Sans said with a humourless chuckle, his eye sockets closing as he tilted his cranium down, shaking his head. He said ‘you’ like it was a dangerous thing; Frisk’s legs shook. “what did i tell ya about talking?”

He started to raise both of his arms at his sides, both hands sparking and blazing bright blue. As he did, another floating skull materialised. And another . . . And another . . . Frisk hobbled backwards until their back pressed against the rock wall, the sharp angles piercing their sweater.

At least ten skulls had appeared above the skeleton in a row, their bones as white as alabaster and yet stained with yellow and cyan. They clacked their sharp jaws in unison to a menacing beat, whirring resonating around the room. All of them had their dripping, cavernous eye sockets focused on Frisk.

Sans dropped his arms to his sides, the blue magic around his hands dimming until it was no more than a dull light. “look, i'm gonna be honest with ya – i don’t care what you have to say. i'm not gonna listen, i'm not gonna care. the only thing i do care about is makin’ you pay for what you’ve done.” He shrugged and shook his head, his face tilting upwards slightly. That stark grin was foreboding despite his slightly-friendlier tone of voice. “so, by the time i've finished with you . . .”

Sans raised his left hand – suddenly igniting cobalt – and the floating skulls each slowly opened their great mouths in unity. A bright cyan light was building between each of their jaws. Frisk’s neck prickled.

The skeleton’s grin widened and he reared his head, his eye sockets open and crazed. Thick droplets leaking from his one left eye. “y o u  w i l l  b e  d e a d  w h e r e  y o u  s t a n d.”

There was an immense roar, and each of the hovering skulls projecting a beam of cyan. _Duck_! screamed a voice in the back of Frisk’s head and the human quickly obeyed. The intense streams struck the rock wall above Frisk to the same level at which they were just standing, charring the wall. The heat from the lasers had singed the back of Frisk’s neck.

Sans let out a bark of a laugh as the skulls continuously fired their scorching emissions of energy – the heads changing positions in accordance to the skeleton’s hand gestures – causing Frisk to duck, jump, dodge and crouch over and over in order to avoid being blasted to dust. There were a few close calls – a laser shot a centimetre from their cheek, another disintegrated the left leg of their shorts – but the constant pumping of determination coursing through them superseded their fear. It helped them focus, honing their concentration on dodging.

Sans’s expression gradually darkened with each miss of his giant skulls, his grin melting and forming a deep scowl. He manoeuvred his skeletal blasters into more difficult positions, forcing Frisk to bend in awkward poses in order to evade them; each time, his left eye spraying more and more of that yellow and cyan mixture, splattering on his clothes or on the dirt before him. The soil sizzled with each drop.

“e n o u g h  g a m e s,” Sans growled, his voice low. With a wave of his right hand, the skulls dematerialised, whilst his left gripped Frisk’s soul. The human gasped as the threatening blue overrode the red of their soul, and they were forcefully shoved against the rock wall behind them. The smouldering rock seared their back, burning the human through their sweater. Frisk cried out in pain, writhing.

Sans grinned darkly and approached, globules falling from his eye and trailing the earth. He stopped a metre away from them, his brow bones met, his expression vicious. He smiled at their discomfort, using his left hand to manipulate Frisk’s soul, pressing the human’s back more into the sharp wall. Frisk shrieked, the jagged angles tearing their sweater and scoring the skin of their back.

“i ‘ d  l i k e  t o  s e e  i f  y o u  c a n  s u r v i v e  _t h i s_.” Sans summoned another floating skull with a clench of his right hand, bringing it over so its skeletal face was only centimetres from Frisk’s. The human stared fearfully into those dripping sockets, the darkness of them making Frisk shake. Its whirring caused their teeth to vibrate. It emitted no breath, but instead a prickling heat radiated from its sharp, closed jaws. Frisk tried to tilt their head away from its intense gaze, but Sans forced their head ramrod straight.

“g e t  d u n k e d  o n,” Sans snarled, raising his hand. The skull’s maw slowly unhinged, the laser charging in between those rows of knife-like teeth. Heat blasted their face and stung their skin.

Frisk’s eyes shut. They wouldn’t survive this, they knew. The energy of the beam was slowly growing, the heat building. Tears formed from their closed eyes and they let out a sob. Frisk was going to die, but they wouldn’t reset. They promised Sans, all those years ago . . .

_look, kiddo. when are ya gonna reset? I can’t bear building a life here with paps, with you, with everyone . . . if you’re just going to wipe it all in an instant. so tell me, kid, when are you planning to erase it all?_ __

_Never, Sans. No more resets, no more do-overs. We’re up here for good . . . I promise._

Suddenly, Frisk was filled with  d e t e r m i n a t i o n.

They weren’t going to die. Sans needed them. Papyrus needed them. Toriel, Alphys, Asgore, Undyne . . . all of the monsters . . . needed them. They would figure out what’s going on – what happened – and get back to them. And, to the best of their ability, save this Sans too. Frisk was the hope of humans and monsters once, and still is. Frisk is the ambassador to the monsters. Saviour of monsterkind. They saved Asriel. They gave everyone a happy ending. They were _determination_ , and they would not be put down so easily.

Frisk’s soul refused.

The blaster was a couple seconds away from firing, when Frisk’s thoughts – their _determination_ – was voiced in one proclamation:

“I’m the legendary fartmaster!” Frisk screamed, opening their eyes and focusing them on Sans.

The skeleton’s hand froze, and Sans suddenly becoming rigid, as still as a statue. Frisk was sure that it didn’t work, but their thoughts were soon cleared as Sans waved his hand, the skull dissipating instantly. Sans tilted his head down, the beads of cyan and yellow trickling slowly down his face. His expression was unreadable.

“did you . . . just say ‘i’m the legendary fartmaster’?” Sans asked, his voice quieter than a whisper.

Frisk nodded, their mouth dry.

The skeleton took a deep intake of breath, despite him having no lungs (‘ _i'm not a human skeleton; i don’t follow your rules._ _” –_ Sans had said when Frisk asked when they were younger). Sans slowly raised his head, his eye sockets blinking slowly.

“wow. that's . . . uh . . . really childish.” Sans looked at Frisk, that one dully-glowing eye enrapturing their gaze. “but that’s also my secret secret triple-secret code word. so . . . uh . . .”

Sans waved his blue hand, and Frisk’s soul was released. It floated back into their body as Sans made the blue magic disappear from his phalanges. The human breathed a sigh of relief.

The skeleton bared a cheerful grin that was blatantly forced to the extent that it looked more like a grimace. He extended his left hand, the one that had snared Frisk’s soul. Frisk stared at it, the phalanges stained cyan and yellow . . . presumably from his eye.

“human,” he said, raising a brow bone. “don’t you know how to greet a new pal? shake my hand.”

Frisk jolted to attention, their face dusted with pink. They stretched their right hand and grasped his.

The human was expecting a whoopee cushion, like when they came out of the Ruins nine years ago. Instead, they were yanked closer to the skeleton, pulled forward so their face was only centimetres from Sans’s. They yelped in surprise.

“y o u  g o t  a  l o t  o f  e x p l a i n i n g  t o  d o ,  ‘ p a l ‘ .  .  .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is mad.
> 
> But there is unresolved questions: Why is Frisk down here? What happened? Who is this Sans?
> 
> All will be answered in the next chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading! ^_^


	2. Missing Faces, Dusted Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk does some heavy reflecting and tries to figure out some things whilst travelling through the Ruins with Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya!
> 
> Small chapter, so sorry about that! It was originally going to be one chapter combined with the next chapter after this, but it ended up being really, really long. Besides, Frisk needs some time to reflect and figuring out about what's going on.

Sans led the way through the Ruins.

Frisk couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that was coiling in their stomach as the pair walked. They had been through here before but . . . something about it this time seemed . . . wrong. Every room breathed no indication of life, darkness creeping over the walls and corners, leering over them like fangs that dripped pure black. Despite the looming darkness, the meagre light and the faint glow emitting from the frequent trail of cyan and yellow drops from Sans’s eye illuminated the room fairly enough. The Ruins were silent apart from their footsteps.

There was no one to be seen. Only reoccurring piles of white powder littering the pathways.

Frisk avoided them the best they could, her insides crumpling inwards at the sight of them. They had a bad feeling . . . something biting at the edge of their thoughts.

Sans didn’t speak, but Frisk didn’t mind. He had become silent ever since they had wrenched their hand out of his grasp back at the golden flowers. The skeleton had stared at them for a while before walking towards the exit, a slight tilt of his head indicating for the human to follow him.

And so they did, their injured foot throbbing as they hobbled to keep pace with him. Frisk had never seen the skeleton move so fast.

They had the feeling that Sans was deep in thought, just as they were. He was confused by something, judging by his hesitation after Frisk’s foot was struck by his bony onslaught. The human couldn’t judge the skeleton for being perplexed – Frisk was too. The silence between them was thick, but somehow did not stem the stream of questions and thoughts circulating in Frisk’s head.

_What happened here? Is there a reason why I’m down here? Is this just a dream?_ A tingling feeling was travelling down the back of their neck, trailing down their spine. The Ruins that Frisk knew and remembered were not like this. The air wasn’t cold and hilted, as though the rooms were holding their breath. The purple walls never looked this dark. The rooms were never this empty. Everything here just seemed wrong.

The fine threads of a theory spider-webbed into existence into Frisk’s head, and it left a bad taste in their mouth.

This had to be a different timeline. It had to. It was the only logical explanation. But Frisk didn’t reset; they were always awake when they did. The last thing they could remember about their timeline was going to bed, and they can’t reset in their sleep.

Frisk had reset many times before. They were a scared kid, who feared what would happen after the monsters were freed and where it left them. This fear caused the young, seven-year-old Frisk to reset over and over, new timelines being created and born, all whilst that voice in the back of their head whispered to use a knife instead of mercy. But Frisk never listened to that particular request. That voice was helpful sometimes, telling Frisk about their environment and giving advice, but sometimes it whispered to do horrible things. The voice had gone silent when the barrier broke.

Frisk knew what resetting felt like: the sudden swirl of determination taking the form of red wisps in their palms, the crimson streams that seeped from their hand smothering their body, the sudden weightless feeling as they were sent tumbling, sprawling into the Underground again . . . It didn’t feel like this.

_I know that I didn’t reset. But the question is, who did?_ Frisk thought. No one else could, because they didn’t have the same amount of determination as them. So . . . the next logical conclusion is that _they_ did it. But, how could they, when they specifically remember not doing exactly that? Frisk promised Sans not to reset again, back all those years ago, when monsters finally broke free of the Underground. But did Frisk reset without realising? Had they forgotten? Do they have amnesia?

“look. i am more than happy to let yourself be impaled on some spikes, but at least save it until after i ask you questions, ‘kay?”

Frisk froze, Sans’s voice pulling them out of their thoughts. The human was standing in the middle of the spike puzzle. Frisk had their right foot hovered over the false pressure plate of spikes instead of the safe one, where the spikes would retract when stepped on. Sans was watching them on the other side, a single brow bone slightly raised.

“Oh, right,” Frisk mumbled, stepping over the false plate and stepping on the safe one. They could remember this puzzle fairly well. The solution went in a form of zig-zag pattern, if they could remember correctly. The first time they went through it, Toriel had held their small hand and led them through it, claiming that it was too dangerous.

Frisk’s brows furrowed. Where was Toriel?

Sans let out a noise akin to a snort and continued to walk, leaving Frisk to hasten to follow him. They stared at the back of his skull as they walked.

_And what happened to Sans?_ Frisk’s eyebrows met as they watched the skeleton walk ahead of them, his cranium tilted downwards and his shoulders slumped, as though he carried a great weight upon his shoulders. _If this is a new timeline, then what happened here that made this Sans so angry? And what happened to his eye?_ Frisk knew a fair bit about magic, and they were sure that nothing _leaked_ from monsters when using it or when it laid dormant. The closest thing to this was the Amalgamates, but their whole bodies had melted together, and this Sans hadn’t done that.

Frisk tried to make a stab at a conversation.

“So, um, where are we going exactly?” Frisk asked, their voice quiet and uncertain.

“someplace to talk,” Sans replied, his voice impassive and forced, like he was speaking because of a great effort.

Silence swept back to smother them like thick blanket. Frisk decided to leave it be.

The two passed room after room, walked past piles and piles of dust before they made it to the room near Toriel’s house. They would have to turn left to see it . . . but up ahead, there was something . . . calling to Frisk. Like an invisible force had spread finger-like tendrils and was trying to coax them into moving forward. The human froze, their heart beating fast.

They could hear something. A whisper? A summons? It was quiet . . . fainter than a whisper, and it was hard to make out the words. It was coming from ahead, in the room where that one Froggit had seen Toriel with groceries. It was beckoning them into that dark, northern room . . . its faint murmurings making their soul throb. It sounded like . . . it was calling for help?

“where do you think you’re going?”

Frisk blinked, finding that they had walked several paces towards the source of the whispering. They looked back at Sans, who was staring at them. The human said nothing, and the skeleton must have seen the bewilderment in their eyes so he just sighed and disappeared down the corridor to Toriel’s home. Frisk hurried after him, looking back at the beckoning room for a few seconds before following him.

Sans was already at the front door when they caught up with him. He walked right inside without knocking, to which Frisk felt a pang of annoyance. Frisk thought that it was rude that Sans just strode into the house without requesting permission, and their face formed a scowl as they walked to the doors.

They didn’t notice the absence of the save point.

Frisk walked into the house, the coldness of the building causing them to shiver. The golden floors and walls seemed more like a dull brown. Spider webs laced the corners, the only victim falling prey to the sticky thread being numerous dust bunnies.

They saw the top of Sans’s head disappear downstairs and they rushed to catch up, their shoes lightly padding on the wooden floor. They walked behind him in the basement, and Frisk found themselves met with more confusion.

_Where’s Toriel_? Frisk thought. Frisk knew that, wherever the goat monster was, the smell of butterscotch pie was present. Her clothes, her house, her possessions . . . everything smelt like the baked good. But the basement was dark and damp, the only scent to be smelt being that of mildew. Vines of green trickled down the walls like oil, stretching down to grip at the ground with leafy fingers. Toriel would never leave her house like this, so where was she?

As they made it to the doors, a large pile of fine white dust caught Frisk’s eye, and their body immediately seized. They could remember fighting Toriel here. But where she was standing, there was a pile of dust.

What had Sans said?  

_i  d o n ‘ t  w a n t  t o  h e a r  a  s i n g l e  w o r d  f r o m  y o u_ – _n o t  a f t e r  y o u  k i l l e d  e v e r y o n e.  n o t  a f t e r  y o u  k i l l e d  p a p y r u s_ . . .

Those words echoed in the human’s ears.

Frisk knew that they didn’t kill everyone. But someone had. Someone had killed everybody. Toriel, Undyne, Alphys, Napstablook, Mettaton, Asgore . . . _Papyrus_. Amongst countless of others. Was that why Sans was so angry? Frisk immediately understood. He seemed to be the only monster left, so how long was he alone? Alone, amongst the dust of his friends?

“O-oh no . . .” Frisk whispered, tears swimming in their vision. Sans had been alone. Someone had killed all his friends – all the monsters – and he thought that it was _their_ fault. Everyone was gone, but Sans was still here. This timeline was all wrong . . .

All other monsters gone. Death hanging over them like a dark cloud, coming towards Frisk like the inside lid of a coffin. Frisk, somehow away from their timeline – where everyone was living on the surface and was happy and safe – and thrust into here, where their injured foot throbbed and their back was sticky with blood and their neck tingled with burns and . . . Sans. With his leaking eye, stained clothes, murder as plain in his expression as that grin on his face . . .

It was too much. What if they couldn’t go back? What if they couldn’t save this Sans? Negative emotions pooled inside them in slow trickles, turning their heart to liquid like the liquid which leaked from their eyes.

Sans heard Frisk let out a sob and chuckled darkly. He turned partially, Frisk’s brown eyes staring into that hollow, dark eye socket.

“might want to watch your step in snowdin,” Sans said, his one hand opening the doors. The cold air brushed against Frisk’s skin and they immediately shivered. It played with the drawstrings of Sans’s hoodie and tugged at his sleeves. The skeleton turned around fully, his one eye staring through them. He grinned. “their dust gets harder to spot in the snow . . .”

Their determination wavered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sans and Frisk . . . Frisk has no idea what's going on and Sans is unstable and lonely.
> 
> More will be explained in the following chapter! We know now how they are there, but how much does Sans know? Why did he hesitate when attacking back in Chapter 1? Can Frisk fix what's happened?
> 
> All that will be discussed in the next chapter.
> 
> But who was beckoning Frisk . . . ?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Questions at Grillby's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some questions are asked and answered.

Just like the Ruins, Snowdin was empty of all other monsters. A blanket of snow covered the ground, the white substance crunching underfoot as the monster and the human walked. Icy gusts shook the pine trees, needles spinning in the mockery of dancers as they were shaken loose by the wind.

Yet nobody else was there. All they could see was the skeleton in front of them, along with the snow falling from light grey clouds.

Frisk remembered being confused about why there were clouds in the Underground back when they were younger. They had asked Alphys about it, but immediately drowned under the weight of her enthusiastic scientific explanation. The human had caught a couple of frantic sentences -- something about the Core and steam cooling -- but otherwise everything else was lost. Frisk decided not to ask again.

Snowflakes caught in Frisk’s hair and attached themselves to the human’s body. The wind ripped and tore at their clothing, allowing small coils of air to travel up their sleeves and plant frigid kisses on their skin. Their feet sunk in the coating of snow, causing the human to use more effort to move their injured foot. Frisk exhaled visible puffs of air. They were absolutely freezing, but the cold that their body was experiencing was nothing in comparison with the ice that encased their heart.

The realisation of the murdered monsters and the new timeline had shaken Frisk into silence. Silence hung over the two like the clouds that hung over the town – dark, dense and suffocating.

Their travel through Snowdin was just a white blur. Sans still walked in front of them, the falling snow landing on his stark white skull and dusting his shoulders.

_Dust._

The dust of the fallen monsters would be invisible in this snow. The wind would have stirred the piles, scattering them and causing them to disperse. Their dust would have been frozen in the hard layers of ice underneath the thick snow, or it will still be playing in the wind.

Frisk shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold.

Sans led them through Snowdin, and occasionally Frisk studied the environment. Papyrus’s station still stood, with the roof holding a minimal amount of snow, as if it had been cleared of the white blankets recently. Sans’s station was the opposite; covered with snow that was barely touched, the oppressive white smothering the wooden structure. The puzzles had all but frozen over due to the lack of recalibration and care, resulting them to stay in the ‘solved’ position. The stations of the dogs – Frisk found – were all smashed, several bones having torn through the wooden rooves and wedged into the walls.

The human looked back at the skeleton, who was obviously responsible for the damage. But Sans didn’t turn around. As if he sensed their gaze, he increased his pace, his footfalls light but quick. Frisk increased their pace likewise, though – if they were to get lost – they would just have to consult their memory of the area or follow the path of blue and yellow drops that trailed after him.

Now that Frisk was dragged out of their destructive thoughts, they found that there was more damage to the area. Trees seemed to be charred, with branches blackened with soot. Haphazard bones were scattered around, as if they were tossed with abandon and no real direction. There were patches of snow that were splattered with splashes of cyan and yellow.

The two eventually reached the bridge, which Papyrus had named 'The Gauntlet of Deadly Terror'. Frisk swallowed hard as they followed Sans, careful with their footing as not to fall. In the case that they did, they couldn’t guarantee that Sans would save them. They could remember Papyrus saying something about the nature of the bridge during one of his phone calls, but the specific information was lost to Frisk's memory.

Snowdin Town was as Frisk expected. The buildings were run down and severely damaged, some fibulas jammed into the supports of some, which had caused them to crumple. The inn and the store owned by the rabbit sisters both yielded injuries, both buildings having burnt walls and doors. The Christmas tree in the middle of the town was nothing more than a feeble frame of a thin trunk and spindly branches, holding no leaves or pine needles. The ‘ _Welcome to Snowdin Town!_ ’ sign was peeling, and the lights surrounding it had long since sputtered out. The clouds overhead made the town appear darker.

This looked nothing like the colourful, friendly town that Frisk had found when they first fell down here. But Frisk wasn’t surprised.

Sans made a beeline for Grillby’s, which – out of all the other buildings in Snowdin – was perhaps one of the only with minimal damage. It looked almost like normal, apart from the dense snow on the roof and the shattered front window. The ‘ _Grillby’s_ ’ sign was missing a few letters, and now appeared to say ‘ _rillby_ ’ instead. The missing letters were slumped on the ground, a thin deposit of ice coating them in an embrace.

The skeleton opened the door (which was, unlike most other buildings in Snowdin, still intact) and entered, Frisk following suit. The inside was more or less the same, with only a few chairs tossed around the room in a random manner, along with the tables being stained with cyan and yellow. Grillby, being a fire monster, usually kept this place warm and alight due to his flickering flames. However, in his absence, the bar was cold and dark, the light from outside and the faint glow of Sans’s solitary eye being the only source of light.

Frisk expected Sans to lead them to the bar stools, but instead he made his way to a booth. The skeleton sat down, and the human followed suit, sitting across from him. Sans had his elbows on the table, his phalanges met in a steeple and his skull down, his eye sockets staring into the table.

“ok,” he started after a few minutes of glaring at the table. Frisk snapped to attention, their brown eyes focused on the skeleton before them. “i'm gonna ask you questions, and you better answer them. if you don’t, i'll be more than happy to dunk you. capiche?” Sans raised his head, those dark eye sockets switching to stare at Frisk’s face instead.

Despite the cold, Frisk could feel a bead of sweat form on their forehead. Their hands – clenched tightly on their lap – were clammy. They feared that their voice would crack with fear if they answered him, so they merely nodded.

“good.” His tone was pleasant, but there was an undertone to his voice – the threat still lingering behind the surface. Still present. Keeping them in check. He lowered his hands and crossed his arms. “let’s start with . . . how did you know my codeword?”

“You told me it,” Frisk replied, their voice soft.

The skeletons eye socket’s widened a fraction, but otherwise his face remained an impassive mask. “explain.”

Frisk bit their bottom lip. How were they going to explain this? Do they mention them reloading back to their save points? “Um . . . we were in the judgement hall, up in New Home. You judged me and disappeared, and I left and came back and you judged me again.” Frisk decided not to mention their determination and the ability to save just yet. “You noticed that I had already heard it, so you told me a codeword to tell you when I came back again. So I did, and you told me another codeword and sent me off again. I told you it when I returned, and you gave me the key to your room, saying that I deserve to ‘know the truth’ or something. Except, uh, it was just a prank . . .”

Frisk felt their cheeks burn under Sans’s harsh gaze. They felt hot, even though cold seeped through the smashed window and brushed along their skin.

“how did you know that it would work?”

“I didn’t.” Frisk licked their dry lips and anxiously picked at their cuticles.

“you ‘left and came back’,” he repeated, as if tasting the words in his mouth, trying to determine the flavour. “meaning . . .?”

The human looked down at their hands. Anything but those intense, dark eye sockets. “Um. It’s a long story . . .”

“you think i'm going anywhere?”

Frisk took a deep breath, keeping their gaze fixed on their hands. They were shaking. “U-uh . . . I’m a human, right? And humans naturally possess this thing called ‘determination’, which gives us the will to continue and allows our souls to persist after death. I have a very high level of determination, meaning when I fell down here, I had the power to come back after death at these things called ‘save points’.”

“i know about determination. get to the point.”

Frisk flinched, surprise edging its way on their features. They obeyed, their voice shaky. “S-so I had saved at the judgement hall and came back after you judged me. I guess you picked up that something was different and you told me the codewords.”

“so you saved at these save points and reloaded, even though you already knew your judgement?” Frisk looked up in surprise, a flabbergasted expression working its way on their face. The skeleton merely stared back. How did he know about Frisk’s ability to reload? How did he know about determination too? Frisk knew that Sans knew about the resets, so did he manage to piece it together? Frisk knew that now was not the time to ask questions, but they couldn’t help the curiosity that flowed through them.

“I suppose,” Frisk finally replied, looking down at the table top. “It happened a long time ago. I think I was just curious.”

The skeleton was silent for a couple of seconds. “ _i_ never judged you or told you any codewords,” he stated, his eye sockets narrowing. More of the cyan and marigold liquid trailed down his cheekbone, landing on the table under him. “so explain _that_.”

Frisk felt their face pale. “I-I . . . actually have a theory about that.”

Sans waved a hand, indicating for them to elaborate.

They felt cold again. The sweater and shorts was practically non-existent to the frigid gusts that flowed from the window and bit into them. They started to shiver, their teeth chattering. “I-I think that I’m from a different timeline than this one. I think that, s-somehow, I fell down here.”

Sans seemed to think, his glowing orb fixing itself on the ceiling in thought. A phalange tapped his chin, to which the blue and yellow fluid flowed onto his finger and trickled down the joints. If he noticed, he didn’t care. Frisk watched the liquid trail down his finger onto his hand, transfixed.

“you’re from a different timeline.” Frisk nodded to clarify. “meaning that, the only way for you to get here is if you reset.”

Frisk jerked their gaze away from his tapping finger and stared at the skeleton in horror. “I would never reset!” Their voice was high and reedy, desperation punctured through their tone. They had had those thoughts about the possibility of the resetting, and they didn’t need them voiced. Frisk was _certain_ that they didn’t reset. They remember going to bed and going to sleep in their timeline, not resetting!

“then how do you explain this?” Sans replied, raising both his hands. The liquid on his hand slid down to his radius and ulna that peaked from behind his sleeve.

“I don’t know! I know that I would _never_ reset, and I didn’t! I would never want to leave my timeline!” They were shaking now.

“so you didn’t get bored? you didn’t decide to start afresh? you didn’t decide to reset so you could kill everyone?” Sans set his hands back on the table and raised a brow bone.

“No!” Frisk practically shouted, their hands planting themselves on the table with a dull smack. “I fell as a seven-year-old kid! I met Toriel in the Ruins, you and Papyrus in Snowdin, Undyne in Waterfall, Alphys in Hotland and Asgore at New Home! I made it to the barrier, I fought Asgore, I helped break the barrier and free monsterkind!” Even in their distraught state, they didn’t mention Flowey or Asriel; they had promised him to keep him a secret. “I promised you that I would never reset again! Monsters lived on the surface! I lived with Toriel and stayed at your place in the weekends and we all had dinner together every Friday! Papyrus would make spaghetti and Toriel would make butterscotch pie and we would watch anime on the couch and Papyrus always got so confused about what was happening and Alphys had to explain everyth–”

“s t o p.”

Frisk fell silent, fear replacing their distress as they wondered if they had gone too far. Sans had his head down, his bones were shaking, causing a rattling sound. That strange mixture leaked out of his eye and a faster pace, and his hands were clenched into fists. The human could see that his smile was twisted into a thin line. Frisk gave a start as they noticed that his hands were slightly flickering blue and his eye was glowing brighter. They chastised themselves. Why had they mention Paps so much? Why had they talked about their timeline? They had clearly made Sans mad. Frisk leaned back, their spine digging into the back of their seat, trying to get as far away from the unstable skeleton as possible. The gauges on their back caused by the sharp rock wall seemed to scream with protest, pain spreading from their back in a dull ache.

Then, he suddenly let out a deep breath and raised his head again, his hands unclenching and ceasing to flash blue. His eye dulled back to normal. The skeleton appeared to have calmed down, the grimace returning to his usual grin, even though it looked obviously fake.

“so you never killed anyone, huh?” he asked, his voice forcing a lighter tone. Anger still pulsed in it.

Frisk swallowed hard and shook their head, compelling themselves to relax. Adrenaline pumped through them, making their legs jittery. No matter how much their mind tried to rationalise, their body viewed Sans as a threat. As someone dangerous that should not be approached.

“i thought so,” Sans muttered, looking down at the table again.

Frisk scowled. If he thought so, why did he keep on attacking them back in the room with the flowers? “You ‘thought so’?”

Sans scowled at the table. “so, your sans never told you about what we could do then, huh?” he asked, their eye flicking up to look at Frisk, who shook their head. “what, was he very secretive or something?”

Frisk chewed their bottom lip. “Something like that.”

The skeleton before them made a noise similar to a harrumph and shifted his position. His skeletal features displayed slight smugness or satisfaction, and Frisk felt mild irritation. His eye sockets studied the human before him.

“all right. my attacks are kinda weak by themselves, but i have this ability called ‘karmic retribution’, or ‘kr’. this ability applies to all my attacks, so when you get hit by them, karmic retribution comes into effect, adding to the damage. like a poison effect or something similar. making sense so far?”

Frisk nodded.

“ok. how much hp the karmic retribution takes away is entirely dependent on the exp and lv of the person its being used against on. i suppose ya know what those are, right?” Sans raised a brow bone in question.

Frisk nodded again. “’EXP’ stands for ‘EXecution Points’, right? Which is gained when you kill someone. ‘LV’ is ‘Level Of ViolencE’, which increases when more EXP is gained.”

“exactly. so, karmic retribution is pretty loyal to its name. you got a lot of exp and have a high lv? you bet its gonna hurt when you get hit by one of my attacks. take it like the quote: ‘what goes around, comes around’. you hurt people, you get hurt back.” Sans looked down at the table again. “but if you don’t have any exp or have a really, really low lv . . . then karmic retribution will do a damage of absolute zero. it won’t affect the person’s hp at all.

“so, when one of my bones attacks hit you, no kr was applied, so i got confused.”

Frisk’s eyebrows met, and one of their fingers tapped their knee in thought. “You got confused because I didn’t get as hurt as bad as you thought?” Their foot was hit by a bone and, despite this no ‘KR’ being applied, the limb still hurt.

“no. i got confused because, well . . .” Sans looked up at Frisk, a large droplet leaking from his left eye and streaking down his face. The eye brightened a fraction, casting small shadows his skull. “you look mighty like the person that killed everyone. even if you look older.” His voice was low and dark.

Frisk’s throat suddenly like a desert. “I-I didn’t kill anyone, though . . .” they managed to choke out, their voice croaky. The thought of someone killing all their friends made their insides cold, freezing their veins and turning them to ice.

Sans’s eye dimmed, and his smile grew, as if he was amused by their nervous reaction. “i know. that was established by the lack of kr. meaning that you have no exp and you have a lv of 1. also, by extension, meaning that you haven’t killed anybody.” He raised his right hand – causing Frisk to flinch, expecting it to light up blue. Instead, it swept over to pick at the booth’s cushion, the phalanges playing with the frayed ends absentmindedly. The human let out a quiet sigh of relief that Sans thankfully did not detect.

“it just confused me because the person i fought, the one responsible for all this –” Sans waved his left hand around for emphasis – “had a very high level of violence. when they were struck with my attacks, the kr would eat away at their hp like it was nothing. you look very similar to this said person, so i thought you _were_ them, so i was expecting the same results. which i didn’t get.”

Frisk frowned. “You still kept on attacking me, though,” they muttered, crossing their arms and giving Sans a pointed look.

Sans shrugged. “heh. even though you haven’t killed anybody, you aren’t completely innocent, are you?” He chuckled when this was met with a confused look. “you did reset, after all, which resulted in this timeline being created.”

The human let out a strangled cry. Not this again!

“I didn’t reset!” Frisk protested, scowling at the skeleton. “I told you, I would never do that!”

“well then how would you explain this?” Sans retorted, getting frustrated now. His brow bones were furrowed and his eye sockets were narrowed. “resetting is the only way this would happen! i don’t care how much you fuss and scream, that is the only way for this timeline to occur. nothing else can cause all this to happen.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Frisk shouted. They covered their face in their hands and let out a groan, feeling tears build up in the corners of their eyes. They didn’t reset; they knew that. No one else could, though, as they didn’t have a high enough determination . . .

“Wait . . .” Frisk removed their hands and looked down at them, their thoughts whirring in their head. Sans watched them with mild interest.

 _If I_ did _reset, then I can just reset again and fix this!_ Frisk thought excitedly. Yes! They had the highest level of determination in the Underground, giving them the power to save, reload and reset. They can fix this. They can get out of here. They can save this Sans. They can make things right again.

“I can try resetting,” Frisk finally murmured, raising their gaze up to Sans’s. The skeleton’s eye sockets widened, his brow bones slightly raised.

“you should have done that before,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. He looked indifferent, but a tiny flicker of interest appeared on his face. He was _hoping_ that this would work.

Frisk took a deep breath and called the determination inside them. They felt it responded, pulling at the end of their thoughts in a slight tug. The human willed it to form as red vapour in the palms of their hands, where they would be able to cover themselves with it and reset the timeline.

But nothing happened.

Their heart leapt.

They tried again.

Nothing happened.

They tried again and again, becoming more desperate, all whilst Sans watched them expectantly.

But nothing happened.

Sans seemed to realised that it wasn’t going to work. He leaned forward again and gave Frisk a grin, those dark eye sockets boring into their pale face.

“looks like you’re stuck here with me,” he said, his smile growing fraction by fraction as Frisk’s expression turned even more panicked.

But there was a disappointment on Sans’s face, as though he had secretly hoped that Frisk would be able to reset. A type of sadness was etched on his skull, the dark lines under his eye sockets appearing darker and the grin becoming more forced and more pained.

Frisk bowed their head in shame.

They had failed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> The next chapter might not be posted as quickly as the past couple, as I've got school exams next week and I sort of need to study . . . I will try though. The next chapter isn't supposed to be very long so I'll try to get it up as soon as I can.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	4. Approaching Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk goes on a little exploration of Snowdin.

Sans left Frisk alone.

Without a word, they had watched the skeleton get up, wipe his hands on his hoodie and leave Grillby’s without another word. The human supposed that he just had something to do or didn’t want to be in their presence any longer.

They were certain that he would come back, though.

Frisk had found themselves absentmindedly spinning on a bar stool, staring at a spot on the ceiling twirl as they did. They were still cold, and their leg still throbbed painfully, but the repetitive movements of seated spinning was a distraction. Not a good enough distraction for their thoughts, however.

 _What do I know? I have fallen down into another timeline that I may or may not have created. Everyone is dead except Sans. Someone that looked like me killed them._ Frisk ceased spinning, biting their bottom lip. Their head felt as though it was filled with static from the relentless rotating. Black and white spots danced in their eyes, but they managed to focus them on their outstretched palms. No red magic – the magic of determination –  blossomed there.

 _I do not have the highest level of determination here_ , they thought pitifully, letting their hands fall back onto their lap. They sighed and leaned back on the bar, closing their tired eyes.

They may not have a high enough determination to reset, but that doesn’t mean that they should just give up. There will be another way – Frisk was sure of it. They needed to save this Sans and bring back his – _their_ – friends. And, pulsing in the middle of Frisk’s soul, was hope. They knew that there was a way to save them. They just haven’t thought of it yet.

 _But I will_ , Frisk thought, optimism blooming in their chest like a flower, the petals splaying and filling them confidence. They practically leapt off the stool and strode towards the exit, their steps light despite the depressing atmosphere. They stepped outside into the cold, and they shivered despite themselves.

Frisk walked through Snowdin Town, the wind calmer than earlier and only lightly pulling at their strands of hair. The snowfall had stopped, but the town looked much darker; everything coloured a dark, sinister grey. It was though an impeding darkness loomed over the human, seeking to bring them down along with the town in which they wandered.

The human swerved out of the way of a large, pale bone which was in their path. It was embedded in the ground, lodged firmly, not even the wind able to sway it. It resembled a humerus, though it was three times as large, appearing more like the bone of a giant creature than the skeleton that summoned it.

Frisk reached out a hand and tapped it with their fingernail. A smaller bone had hit their foot, causing it to flare out in pain in protest with every step. This bone looked as though it could shear through skin and shatter spines with brute force. The human retracted their hand at the thought and moved away from it, their skin chilling at the image.

They weren’t certain of where they were going; they certainly weren’t leaving. They weren’t sure where Sans went, and the fallen snow that covered the ground yielded no evidence of his whereabouts. Frisk was sure that he wouldn’t appreciate them following him anyway.

 _Unless he used one of his ‘shortcuts’ so I can’t follow him_ , Frisk mused, brushing the sole of their shoe against another bone, which was planted more firmly and more deeply into the earth; only rising a few centimetres from the ground. They scowled. _Then why didn’t he use a shortcut when we walked to Snowdin? Surely the journey would have been much quicker._

Perhaps it used up a lot of magical energy? Frisk was no stranger to Sans and his ‘shortcuts’. They knew that it was some form of teleportation. But they didn’t think that it used up a lot of his energy; he always looked absolutely fine afterwards. So then, why didn’t he teleport them to Snowdin, back in the Ruins?

 _Maybe he’s unable to_ , Frisk pondered, their molars biting the inside of their cheek in thought. _Maybe Sans can’t shortcut. In that case, is it related to his eye? Has he been hurt in a way?_

The human winced, the image of Sans standing over the dust pile of Papyrus swimming uninvited to the forefront of their mind. _In not the emotional sense . . ._

Frisk dragged themselves out of their thoughts, finding that they had paused in front of the crumbling remains of the shop and the inn owned by the rabbit sisters. The two buildings reminded the human of two crumpled, torn balls of paper. They wood was splintered, the supports buckling and frail. The rooves were caved in and bared several gaping holes. The doors were smashed and the signs were ripped and peeling. Guilty bones pierced the sides, with scorch marks charring the walls. Overall, the two buildings looked desolate.

The human made no movement to enter. What would they find inside, anyway? Damaged possessions, broken furniture, piles of dust . . .

Frisk’s brown eyes swept the ground in front of them. The familiar, golden twinkle of the save point was absent. The human felt a pang deep in their soul, approaching the spot in which they had saved so often with tentative steps.

They outstretched their hand, shaking, and groped the air, feeling for the buzzing at the end of their fingertips upon touching a save point. But it wasn’t there, the only feeling tugging at their fingers being the cold air.

Frisk sighed and let their hand drop to the side. The save points must be only present to the one with the highest determination. That being is the only one that can save, reload and reset, after all. The missing save points were hardly unexpected, but Frisk still felt their heart dip with the bleakness of their position.

What good are they now, if they can’t save, reload and reset? Only the creature with the highest amount of determination can do that . . .

Realisation gripped Frisk’s heart. _If I don’t have the highest determination_ , they thought, their heart racing, _then who–?_

“ready to go, human?”

Frisk jumped in surprise. They whirled to face the skeleton, who was standing several paces behind them, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Sans looked at them coolly, that one glowing orb fixed on their face.

Frisk exhaled deeply and cleared their throat. “Where are we going?” they asked. The chill of Snowdin Town creeped up on them once again, pulling at their exposed skin. The human shivered and crossed their arms, rubbing them for some, limited degree of warmth.

The skeleton’s expression remained unchanged. “your accommodation.”

The human was surprised to see that the Underground had darkened considerably. There was no sky here, and no sun, but the light had almost leeched away. Dark grey had stretched over the town akin to an oppressive blanket, the darkness deepening gradually with every moment’s pass. The darkness had brought a more piercing cold, Frisk’s skin prickling with goose-bumps and paling their complexion. Their lips were turning a deep purple.

Accommodation meant warmth. Warmth, at this moment, was very appealing.

The human could only nod briskly, not trusting their voice not to shake. Sans turned and started walking away, Frisk forcing their stiff legs to follow him.

The sudden darkness of the approaching night was a surprise to Frisk. It seemed only a couple of minutes ago that they had woken in the bed of golden flowers, the sun shining down on them. But, then again, much had happened since then.

They were attacked by Sans, who thought that they were his brother’s killer.

They had walked through the empty shell of the Ruins.

The frigid realisation of the murdered monsters and the new timeline had embraced Frisk like the coldness of the town they walked in.

They had discovered that they didn’t have enough determination to save them.

Perhaps the past events felt recent enough to have been thought as moments just passed, but Frisk’s body felt otherwise. Their left leg throbbed and pulsed with a dull pain with every footstep. The gashes on their back caused by the sharp rock wall were covered with dried blood, the feeling unpleasant on their skin. Their legs felt like stiff pillars that protested with every movement, no matter how slight. They felt as though they were about to collapse from exhaustion.

Sans led them to the end of Snowdin, where – through tired eyes – Frisk spotted the house of Sans and Papyrus. It was the only other building apart from Grillby’s that wasn’t significantly damaged. The walls only sported a few black scorch marks. A large bone had torn through the roof, and was sticking out like an impression of a chimney. The Christmas wreath that previously hung on the door was missing. The windows were intact, and a light seemed to be on inside.

The skeleton pushed open the door and entered, Frisk trotting after him, desperate to get out of the cold. They let out a sigh of relief as warmth enveloped them like a comforter, flooding through them and banishing the cold.

The inside of the house – to Frisk’s surprise – was relatively unchanged from how they remembered. The table to their left still held Sans’s pet rock, which was covered in fresh sprinkles. The worn, green couch still sat squat in front of the television, and the side table holding the joke quantum physics book was still to its right. Frisk could spot the bone painting still hanging on the second floor. However, the large bone that had torn through the roof was partially blocking the staircase, and Sans’s sock – including the sticky notes – was not present. Otherwise, the inside was relatively clean, with no furniture holding dust and the purple-and-blue striped carpet sporting no dirt or snow.

“wait here,” Sans ordered. Frisk complied, waiting by the table. They watched Sans sidestep around the large bone and go upstairs, disappearing into his room.

Frisk eyed the couch, having half a mind to collapse on it and sleep. That was obviously where they were going to be sleeping, anyway. Maybe Sans had gone to get them a pillow and a blanket from his room?

The skeleton reappeared from his room and walked downstairs. He was not carrying a pillow, but he did have a thin, torn blanket in his hands, along with a set of keys.

“come on.” Sans walked outside again, tilting his head to the side to indicate for Frisk to follow.

Frisk frowned, but the human followed him, trembling as the cold weight of Snowdin smothered them again. They trailed after the skeleton, puffs of cold air emitting from their purple lips. They hugged their arms and eyed his form. Did skeletons get cold?

Sans led them to the shack beside the house, which Frisk remembered was Papyrus’s toolshed. They had been reluctant to fight Papyrus, so they just kept getting captured until he eventually gave up. Their memories of the toolshed were hazy, though. This toolshed looked similar, apart from a large chunk of the roof being ripped off.

The skeleton muttered as he struggled to find the right key for the toolshed. He eventually found it and swung open the door. He motioned for Frisk to go inside.

“S-sans . . .?” they started, their voice shaking from the cold. “W-why am I–?”

“you didn’t actually think i would let you sleep in the house, right?” Sans interrupted, a grin slowly stretching across his face at their shock.

Frisk walked inside, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The inside was intact enough, but the hole in the ceiling let in the cold. Lazy, darkened clouds drifted overhead through the gap, and the human was reminded of a budget skylight. The bars were still standing, but they were leaning on awkward angles. The bed sitting squat on the floor was too small for when Frisk was seven, and it was definitely minuscule compared to Frisk now. The dog bowl was empty and the dog’s chew toy was practically ripped to pieces. The wooden walls were hardly a protection against the cool night air.

Frisk couldn’t imagine sleeping in such a cold, damaged place.

Sans chuckled. “i'll open the door in the morning. no leaving this shack until then.” He threw the thin blanket at them, and Frisk narrowly caught it. It was as thin and flimsy as gauze. He rested his phalanges on the door handle and went to close it.

“Sans?”

He opened it a fraction, that one dripping eye staring at them.

“what, human?”

Frisk looked down at the blanket, chewing their bottom lip. Then they looked back to him. “Why am I . . . why am I still alive? Why haven’t you – you know – killed me?”

The skeleton just stared at them for a moment. “consider this as punishment,” he finally said. “i have to live in this hellish world; you can too.”

The last thing Frisk saw was his cruel smile before they were washed in darkness.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah . . . Sans wouldn't be that nice to the person who might have resetted a perfect world. So Frisk gets to sleep in the cold, damaged shed.
> 
> Yay?
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading guys!


	5. Night Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A human is troubled by a nightmare.

_Frisk was thirteen._

_The barrier had broken six years ago._

_They were staying at the house of Sans and Papyrus, as Toriel was at a business meeting representing monsters. She suggested for Frisk to have a break from ambassador duties for a while; they had been working almost nonstop. Even though monsterkind had been up on the surface for six years now, the relationship between monsters and humans was still a fragile one._

_So now they were staying at the skelebros’ house for a couple of days. Papyrus was so excited; he was practically buzzing with happiness as soon as Toriel’s car rolled into their driveway. He had dashed out of the house before the goat monster could even turn off the engine. Sans had just stood laughing in the doorway._

_Staying over was great. Papyrus had gotten significantly better at cooking, so they woke up to a fresh plate of waffles every morning. On some days, they stayed at home with Frisk, whilst on others one of them had to go to work. Whenever Papyrus left, Sans and Frisk just lounged on the couch, telling bad jokes and watching movies. Whenever Sans had to go to his job, Papyrus and Frisk played board games and completed puzzles._

_Every night they had spaghetti._

_It was wonderful._

_However, on the fourth night, Frisk woke up to a loud noise. They rubbed their sleep-filled eyes, blinking quickly so they adjusted to the darkness of the guest bedroom. The human looked around the room, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Had they imagined the sound?_

_There it was again._

_It was like a large crackle, as if a firework had just been set ablaze. A sort of hum that occurred in a short burst. It reminded Frisk of electricity._

_They carefully crept out of bed and walked to the door. Their hand closed around the door knob and they peeked their head out, their eyes scanning over the dark landing. The bright walls, the soft carpet and colourful paintings and photographs on the walls all looked oddly sinister in the meagre light. Their brown eyes swept over the bedroom doors of Sans and Papyrus._

_Under Sans’s door glowed a faint blue light. It pulsed, almost like a heartbeat, though irregular. Thirteen-year-old Frisk pouted. They remembered seeing rainbow-coloured flames under Sans’s door back at Snowdin, but this somehow felt different. It felt dangerous – scary. Something wasn’t right._

_Frisk exited the guest bedroom and started walking towards Sans’s bedroom. Their feet made soft footfalls on the carpet as they drew closer to it. The air smelt strangely of ozone, as if it was charged with a buzzing energy. An energy that was being emitted from the other side of Sans’s door._

_They should have gone back in their room. But curiosity had gotten the better of them._

_Frisk’s hand rested on the wood of Sans’s door. It vibrated under their palm. The other hand reached for the door knob, and they slowly opened the door, their heart pounding like an incessant drum in their chest._

_“Sans . . .?” they whispered, their voice quiet and careful._

_The skeleton was sitting on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his back hunched. His skull was in his hands, his bones were rattling quietly and sweat beading above his hidden eye sockets. His form seemed to be shrouded in a bright cyan aura, one which casted onto the walls and sent the shadows into a dance. The glow appeared to throb, fading from light blue to a yellow._

_Frisk swallowed hard._

_“Sans,” Frisk said louder, “are you all right?”_

_Sans’s spine straightened suddenly and he whipped out his left hand. It was glowing cerulean. Frisk felt their soul tear out of their chest and blue overtake the glinting crimson. They collapsed to the floor, their soul weighing more than a ton._

_“Sans!” Frisk cried, trying to move._

_The skeleton’s face tilted and Frisk felt fear freeze their bones. His right eye socket had grown dark, the white eye-light gone. His left held a slowing orb that flashed from yellow to cyan in quick bursts._

_Frisk had seen Sans’s eye sockets completely devoid of his usual white eye-lights before. It had sent terror travelling down their spine in a sudden crawl, and they nearly fell out of their chair._

_It was nothing compared to that one eye. That one, glowing, magical eye that was pinned straight on Frisk._

_Sans’s smile was twisted into a thin line that resembled more of a snarl. His left hand was splayed, keeping Frisk planted on the ground. The glowing aura around him cast dark shadows on his body, making him appear more frightening. His expression was one of murder, but it looked unfocused, somewhat. As if he was somewhere else._

_He started to raise his right hand, an array of bones materialising into thin air above him. The human gasped at the sight and wriggled frantically, trying to escape. But his grip was like iron._

_“Sans! Sans!” Frisk shouted desperately. Fright coursed through them instead of blood. They had never seen him like this before. They had never seen him use any form of magic before apart from his ‘shortcuts’. So why were they using it on them?_

_Sans tilted his right hand, the phalanges twisting. The bones started to angle towards them at a snail’s pace, as if he all the time in the world. The bones burned with a harsh white, appearing somehow more sinister than the bones that Papyrus had flung at them when Frisk battled him._

_And these bones were about to be hurled at Frisk._

_“Sans, please!” Frisk screamed, tears streaming from their face and struggling in panic. The bones suddenly launched towards them like missiles. “Sans, stop! Please! Help!”_

_“_ _WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE_ _?!”_

_Papyrus crashed through the bedroom door, kicking it open with a fuzzy slipper. The loud noise seemed to snap Sans out of his reverie, the white eye-lights suddenly replacing the single blue one. The wave of bones clattered on the floor and quickly dematerialised. They focused on Frisk and they shrunk to the size of pinpoints in surprise, his eye sockets widening. Frisk felt the blue seep away from their soul and they sobbed in relief._

_Frisk curled up into a ball and started to cry in earnest, the terror and panic sending them into a breakdown. Papyrus knelt down and comforted them, pulling them into bony embrace as they wept and sniffled against his sternum._

_Sans had backed up, his skull making a dull_ clunk _as it hit the wall behind him, as if he was trying to get as far away as possible from Frisk. The blue aura around him had faded into nothing._

 _“_ _k-kid . . ._ _” Sans said, his voice shaking. He reached out a hand before pulling it away quickly. He hung his head, his eye sockets focused on his trembling hands, not believing what he had just done._

 _“_ _kid, i am so sorry . . ._ _”_

_Frisk looked at the skeleton, his face reflecting true horror and self-loathing at his actions. His small, white eye-lights were nothing but pinpricks, and that smile was now a pained grimace._

_But all Frisk could see was that glowing blue eye and the wave of bones sweeping towards them . . ._

Frisk gasped and shot up into a sitting position, the sixteen-year-old human suddenly awakening with a quiet cry.

The effects of the nightmare were fading from their minds, but their soul throbbed in their chest, as if it was reliving the past pain of being pinned forcibly to the floor in a dominating blue. They drew in shaky breaths, their fingers digging into their scalp as they hid their face into the palms of their hands.

 _Calm down, Frisk_ , they thought, trying to extinguish the fear that was causing their body to shake. _That happened three years ago. It’s done._

That was the only time Frisk had ever seen Sans perform any type of magic apart from his ‘shorcuts’. And it had terrified them, maybe just as terrified as Sans was of himself soon after the incident. The next morning Sans had apologised, his voice almost incoherent and the skeleton more panicked than Frisk had ever seen. Frisk had forgiven him. Whatever happened, he didn’t do it on purpose. Something had caused him to attack them.

The mental image of the Sans of this timeline swam into view.

 _My Sans didn’t attack me on purpose. I forgave him. I have to forgive this Sans, too._ Frisk wiped their eyes and sighed, dropping their hands onto their lap.

It was still dark, so it was clear that it was the middle of the night. Hidden partially by the dusting of cloud were glowing rocks -- not unlike the ones in the wishing room at Waterfall -- embedded on the ceiling of the Underground, serving as a mockery of stars. A cold breeze drifted through, causing Frisk to shiver, pulling the thin blanket more over themselves.

After Sans had locked the shed door, Frisk had spread the thin blanket over themselves and immediately fell asleep despite the cold. They figured that they were just so exhausted from everything that’s happened, that their body just immediately took the opportunity to sleep.

Now awake, the cold crept back up on them, and Frisk was suddenly painstakingly aware of the hunger that was clawing at their stomach. They hadn’t eaten anything in a while, and now Frisk was horribly mindful of it.

“Nothing I can do about it now,” Frisk muttered. The shed was empty of food. Frisk regretted not digging through Snowdin for something to eat the day before.

They went back to lying on their back and closing their eyes, trying to fall asleep again. But the nightmare had fully woken their body and mind, forcing the idea of sleeping out the window. They were just too alert now; every chirp of the birds outside set their heart pounding.

Sighing, the human turned over onto their back, their head resting on the small dog bed. The hard, wooden floor was unforgiving on their spine, and the cold from outside made their skin erupt in goose-bumps. They made the mental note to try to find some blankets and bedding in the morning to make their stay in the shed slightly more pleasant.

Frisk knew it wasn’t permanent, though. They’ll find a way to get back to their timeline. They knew they would, they could _feel_ it.

But, until then, they were here. And Frisk knew that they weren’t leaving until they’ve helped the Sans of this timeline.

“But, for now . . .” Frisk murmured, opening their eyes. The hole in the ceiling was right above them, the rocks glinting at them from overhead. They winked weakly from behind the wisps of cloud. The human was reminded of the stars on the surface and felt a pang of sadness.

Pushing all thoughts of the cold and their hunger out of their mind, they just looked up at the glowing rocks, the faint memory of the wishing room echoing in their head.

 _I wish that I can get back home,_ Frisk thought, slowly raising their left hand over their head. The spread their fingers towards the rocks above them, as though they were trying to reach them. _I wish that I can save this Sans._

They called for help.

As their thoughts were dwindling, and they were slowly falling into the embrace of sleep, Frisk felt something – someone – respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, today.
> 
> However! Updated a day early, so that's good. 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter explains where Frisk saw Sans's magic in their original timeline. But it also poses some questions as well.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	6. A Trickle of Cyan and Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk isn't the only one who can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early update for you guys! Probably because this chapter is a short one again, but nevertheless, here it is.
> 
> This chapter is in Sans's perspective this time. And somehow Chapters 1-6 all happens in the same day? These characters need a break, my god.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter brings some things to light, along with showing you guys Sans's opinion on things.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

Sans stared up at the ceiling, unable to descend into sleep. Drowsiness failed to envelop him; clumsy, fat fingers unable to tug his mind into a slumber. Sans could remember when he would slip so easily into a doze, napping almost anywhere and at any time. But that time had long since left him, only insomnia being the remains.

The skeleton was lying on his bed, the blanket pulled up over his sternum and his eye sockets towards the ceiling of his bedroom. The room was dark, but through the illumination of his one eye the blurry shapes of his dresser and the treadmill could still be distinguished. The self-sustaining tornado in front of his mattress let out a continuous, soft _whoosh_ as it spun.

Sans could remember when his bedroom was untidy. There had been a collection of socks in the corner, trash and plates of spaghetti spinning in the tornado. There had been junk crammed inside his drawers and his blanket was crumpled up into a tight wad. Papyrus would always nag him to vacuum his room, or to dust it, or to make his bed . . .

But now his brother was gone.

And Sans’s room was now spotless.

Sans winced as the memory of his brother caused his eye to leak more of his magic; swirling cyan and yellow mingling as it collected in his eye socket, causing his vision to become fuzzy. The skeleton grumbled in frustration and sat up, his left hand rising to clutch at his eye socket. The liquid trickled past his phalanges and trailed down his hand, sliding down the bones like treacle and staining the inside of his sleeve. The single eye burnt and blazed brighter, cyan and yellow light shining from behind his bony fingers.

His dark eye sockets used to hold a single, white eye-light in each. When he was mad or wanted to appear intimidating he could cause those lights to disappear, leaving pitch black sockets. In the rare case that he was using his magic on someone, his right eye-light would disappear, and in his left flashed a large, cyan and yellow eye.

That was how it used to be. But after all that had happened in the Underground, his magic had grown increasingly unstable, leaving his eye sockets permanently fixed with that single, glowing eye in his left socket. His magic nowadays was practically overflowing, thrashing underneath the surface and causing that glowing eye to leak and secrete that viscous mixture.

Sans huffed as the eye increased its flow, the liquid pooling from underneath his fingers. He leaned over and clawed at his dresser with his right hand. His fingers brushed the tissue box and he grabbed it, dragging it over to his slumped form. Quickly yanking the fine paper from it, he passed it to his left hand and brought it up to his left socket, trying to staunch the oozing magic.

The magic would constantly leak from his eye and varying speeds. He figured that it was dependent on his mood, with it dripping at slow speeds when he was calmer, and it practically gushing when he was mad or uneased. The liquid would soak and stain clothing or fabric, unable to be removed (he had tried to scrub it out of his hoodie a couple of months back with no avail), but it would dissipate after a long while on other surfaces. His room was almost completely covered in cyan and yellow droplets.

Sans’s brow bones met and his pseudo-smile twisted into a scowl. Images of a human child with a knife flashed in his mind. A haunting smile. Splashes of red. Flowers dusted with white. A single red scarf embedded in the snow, the torn edges being pulled by the frosty wind.

 _my eye wouldn’t even be like this if it wasn’t for that human,_ the skeleton thought bitterly. _this is all_ their _fault._

Sans could remember that human very, _very_ well. It had all started with that lady from behind the door. She asked Sans to protect any human that came down to the Underground and Sans, unable to resist her integrity, agreed.

Then a human came out of the Ruins. Their shoes covered in dusty powder. Their knife streaked with white. The skeleton had stalked them, his sockets narrowing in suspicion. Sans wasn’t a fool. He knew that this human had killed somebody, if not multiple somebodies. But he had to honour his promise.

That didn’t mean that he trusted them, though.

Because whenever he travelled to the door of the Ruins, rapping his knuckles in the familiar knock . . . the lady never replied. Maybe she didn’t feel up to it, but Sans knew better.

The human ventured through Snowdin, dust mingling with the fresh fallen snow. Monster numbers started dropping like flies. But Sans had told Papyrus that they all went on holidays; his brother didn’t need to know the truth. Sans had warned the human not to fight Papyrus, but the human just gave them a smile. The skeleton had cautioned his brother on fighting the human, but Papyrus . . .

Sans had found a ripped, red scarf in the snow, covered with dust.

Sans stalked the human through their journey. He noticed that whenever they fell in a fight, they always came back to life. They were clearly the one causing the jumps and leaps in the space-time continuum. They clearly had enough determination to save, reload and reset . . . just like that stupid flower. But they were also killing everyone in the Underground.

Soon enough, Sans met them in the Judgement Hall. He had fought them, over and over and over but they kept on coming and coming and –

Sans cursed as his eye socket started gushing out a copious amount of his magic, the liquid soaking into the wads of tissue clutched in his left hand and dripping large drops from his clenched fist. He pulled more tissue paper out of the box and held it over his left socket, but the magic kept flowing strongly.

He knew that he shouldn’t have thought about what happened. All the people he lost weren’t coming back.

Sans let out a sigh and let his left hand drop to his lap, letting his magic leak freely from his eye socket. Everyone was gone, leaving him the only monster left in this desolate shell of the Underground. How long had he been left here? Weeks? Months? Years? It felt like a century. He was filled with crippling sorrow and anger, frequently letting his frustration out on the environment around him. The lasers from his gasterblasters had charred, burnt and disintegrated everything in sight. The volleys of bones that he unleashed tore into every building. He was miserable.

Sometimes the skeleton thought of just ending it all. There was nothing left here, so why should he still exist? That human had left him with _nothing_ , so what was the point? What was the point in living?

He had given up on trying to stop the resets ages ago, and Sans never thought that he would get that hope – that _determination_ – back. However, after that human fell and killed everyone he cared about, miraculously, that resistance, that will to continue, came back to him. Sans knew, deep in his soul, that that human would return for him. They had let him go in the Judgement Hall, but he knew that they would come back to finish what they started.

Was that what kept him going? The want – no, the _need_ – to fight that foul, twisted creature again? Fight them again in order to avenge all those fallen monsters? To seek revenge? To bring that human to justice?

Sans’s glowing eye briefly flashed yellow. Yes. That’s why he was still alive. He was waiting for that human to come back, to meet their knife with his bones once again. If he killed them, well, they would come back again and again, but they would eventually give up. If Sans died, well . . . then he can see Papyrus again. Everyone again . . .

But all Sans had to do was wait for the human to fall again.

The ends of Sans’s smile tapered downwards, and he idly picked at the metacarpals on his left hand.

A human _did_ fall today. But it was not the human he was expecting.

This human had a low level of violence and no execution points, whereas the other had high ones. This human panicked when they had fallen, as if they didn’t want to be here, whereas the other would leap up with and demented purpose. This human – when they first laid their brown eyes on Sans – seemed to light up, saying his name with almost _relief_ , whereas the other human would say his name in that sing-song, taunting voice of theirs.

This new human was not the one that had killed nearly all the monsters in the Underground. This one was a pacifist.

But did Sans feel guilty about nearly dunking them?

No. He would do it again in a heartbeat.

This new human had spoken of another timeline, the one where they were from. Where they had helped break the barrier when they were seven, and had spent nine years living on the surface with monsters, more specifically with this ‘ _Toriel_ ’ (who that is, Sans had no idea). They said that they were friends with everyone – ‘Toriel’, Asgore, Alphys, Undyne . . . and, heck, even Papyrus. Even . . . Sans. Their Sans. Which was weird, as Sans didn’t have any memory of this human.

But, this new human was from another timeline, and now they were in this one. There was only one way for that to happen . . .

A reset.

And humans have the highest amount of determination, which allows them to reset, save and reload. This new human must have reset their timeline and created this timeline. And, by doing that, they allowed that other, wretched human to destroy everything Sans cared about.

So, this human may not have killed anyone, but they allowed others to be killed.

They weren’t the murderer who stabbed the victim, but they were the person who gave them the knife.

Sans leaned back so he was lying back down on his bed, letting the tissue box fall to the floor. His left socket was leaking at a very fast pace, but the skeleton no longer cared. The leaking magic pooled in his eye socket, blinding him, but he ignored the burning and the blurring of his vision. He just glared at the ceiling.

 _Why am I . . . why am I still alive? Why haven’t you – you know – killed me?_ their voice repeated in the back of Sans’s skull.

Good question.

They caused this timeline to happen, and thus letting that other human kill everyone Sans cared about. They had _caused_ all this. They had caused the empty, hollow feeling that smothered the Underground. They had caused that lone, red scarf sitting in the snow. They had caused Sans to wake up every night, choking on air because he didn’t know if he was also inhaling someone’s dust. They had caused the knife and all its destruction.

But now they were stuck here. They might have had the most determination in their timeline, but not _here_. They can’t reset, and so they must remain here with Sans.

Sans had seen how distraught they looked at this knowledge. It had given him a sort of sick satisfaction – watching the utter horror on their face as they realised that they were stuck with him. So, their continued existence is something Sans considered a punishment.

_i have to live in this hellish world; you can too._

The human had to reap what they had sown.

It will be hard to keep them alive, though. Every instinct that Sans possessed was screaming at him to dunk them, to let an array of bones shatter their shaking, terrified form. To reduce them to a pile of steaming ash by his gasterblasters. To turn their bright red soul blue and smashed them into the walls until they become nothing but goo. But they weren’t the one to kill. The other human was.

But it didn’t help that whenever Sans looked at this new human, all he could see was that green-and-yellow sweater and those glimmering red eyes that belonged to the human that had killed every, single, monster.


	7. Blue Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk learns the rules, then looks for items to help them on their current stay in the Underground.

Frisk awoke to a loud knock, as if someone was rapping their knuckles harshly on wood.

"get up."

The human let out a groan, rubbing their closed eyelids. Was it time for school already? And who was that voice -- Sans? Was he staying over? Did Toriel get him to wake them up? Their mother knew how exhausted they were at the end of every day; they deserved their sleep. Frisk mumbled something incoherent and turned over, pulling their bed covers more securely over their body.

No, wait. 

The mattress they laid upon was a hard, wooden floor. The covers they draped over themselves was the thin, gauze-like blanket. The light that glared down on them was not from a window, but from a hole in the ceiling.

The Sans knocking at the door was not their Sans.

They tried to push away the disappointment that slowly sank in their chest. Frisk was still here, in this other timeline. They're not getting back to theirs so easily.

"Yeah," Frisk replied, their voice hoarse and their throat dry, "I'm up."

The human pulled the blanket from their body and rose to their feet. The pain in their left foot had eased somewhat, the bruise a slight, faded purple. The gashes that marred their back were covered in dried blood. Hunger gnawed at their stomach like a ravenous creature, clawing at the walls demandingly.

Frisk winced as their stomach let out a loud growl. They regretted not finding food the day before.

There was a click, and the door of the toolshed opened, light from outside spilling into the small wooden infrastructure. Frisk squinted -- the light blinding -- but could clear as crystal see the skeleton that had opened the door.

Sans looked much like the same as before, with his clothing stained cyan and yellow. But his white shirt looked more tainted, the mixture that poured from his eye socket smothering the fabric. His glowing eye was now dripping languidly, the fat droplets slowly trailing down his face. The lines around his eye sockets looked darker, more pronounced; strokes that cut deep incisions through bone. 

The skeleton's singular eye looked Frisk up and down as the human walled towards him. The edges of his grin quirked upwards. "trouble sleepin'?"

Frisk nodded, one of their hands clutching their stomach whilst the other rubbed their eye.

Sans's smile grew wide. "good."

Frisk frowned at him, but he didn't look back at them. After the human had exited the shed, he closed the door, locking it again with a twist of a key. Snow did not fall, and the swirl of clouds were more dispersed. Through the gaps of them, light flooded through, washing away the darkness of the night with bright yellow. The morning was much warmer than the previous day.

"now, human," Sans started, returning the keys to his hoodie pocket and turning to face Frisk, "we gotta establish some rules here. i'll let you out of the shed at sunrise. for the remainder of the day, you can do whatever you want, but you have to stay in snowdin. if you leave, i'll know, so don't even try it. at sunset, you have to be at this toolshed so i can lock you in for the night. if you're not there at that time, i'll find you and drag you back by the hair. does that make sense?"

Frisk could only nod.

"I'll make sure to be back in time," the human replied. Before they could stop themselves, a string of thought managed to also be spoken: "Otherwise what I could experience would be quite  _hair_ -raising."

Frisk winced at their joke and was tempted to curl into themselves in embarrassment. That joke was  _bad._ But Sans would appreciate it, with him being a master at all things relating to humour. He would probably crack a genuine smile and retaliate with a barrage of puns that would cause the human to groan.

Instead, Sans stared at Frisk, that one eye boring into theirs. His permanent smile did not break into a sincere one. He just stared at the human emotionlessly for several moments before turning away and walking off without another word, his slippers crunching on the overnight snow.

Frisk watched the skeleton walk away, his shoulders hunched and his skull tilted downwards. They supposed that after losing so much -- his friends, his family -- Sans would also lose his sense of humour. The human couldn't blame him, though. You can only use humour as a coping mechanism for so long, after all.

Frisk's grumbling stomach tore through their string of thoughts and brought them back to reality. Food was a priority right now. They should be searching for something to eat instead of letting their thoughts sweep them away.

The human started walking towards the centre of town. Frisk figured that food must be near the centre; the faint memories of a cinnamon bunny swimming into the forefront of their mind. When they first fell in the Underground, they were surprised to find that they could actually consume monster food. Apparently, according to a monster in Grillby's, monster food did not spoil and converts directly into energy upon consumption, whereas human food passed all the way through the body.

Frisk smiled to themselves as they recalled the memory of their friends eating human food for the first time. They were quite shocked when Frisk told them that human food didn't immediately vanish upon consumption. Every human in the restaurant had whirled around to stare at the group at their surprised reactions to eating human food -- Asgore looking quite puzzled, his great brow furrowed in confusion to why his hunger wasn't immediately sated; Toriel appearing slightly green, dropping her fork to her plate and hesitantly commenting on the wallpaper; Undyne letting out a disgusted scream and bolting from her chair, leaping over other tables and weaving past people to get to the bathroom; Alphys immediately blogging about the experience, scientific fascination in her eyes as her claws quickly tapped her phone with enthusiasm and the skeleton brothers looking down in bewilderment to their clothing which had become suddenly stained, only to find once they had lifted up their shirts that limpid spaghetti noodles were tangled in Papyrus's ribs and ketchup was dripping from Sans's. Frisk had never laughed so hard, trying to hide their giggles in their caesar salad.

Frisk looked up at the ruins of the general store. They hadn't been so enthusiastic about going anywhere near the store the day before, but the constant rumbling of their stomach had caused them to push aside their initial uneasy feeling. They were too hungry to care.

The human gently pushed open the wrecked door, the slate of wood squealing its displeasure as it gleaned them entry. The interior was much like the exterior; unstable, crumbling walls, torn furniture and the flooring littered with broken, haphazard possessions. Much to Frisk's relief, no piles of white dust could be seen anywhere. Did the rabbit monster that resided here attempt to leave Snowdin, only to fall victim to the monster-killer? Frisk swallowed hard at the thought and started to search through the rubble for anything to salvage. 

Under a few pieces of jagged wood, they recovered a blue backpack. They brushed off the dust and removed the small tendrils of woods that had become tangled in the fibres. It was in decent condition, with the straps still adjustable and the cheerful yellow sun still bright on the back of it. There was only a few tears and rips here and there, with slight fraying on the corners, but Frisk likened those to be subjects of use.

They opened the backpack to search for anything it might be holding. A lunchbox sat squat inside, a metal drink bottle nestled beside it. Frisk quickly grabbed the lunchbox and practically tore it open, immediately devouring the two cinnamon bunnies it held within seconds. The human let out a sigh as they felt their hunger dissipating, energy flooding back into their limbs. Their gaze fell on a small label that was stitched into the inside of the bag, the thick, black writing staring at Frisk square in the face:

_This bag belongs to : Lily._

Frisk nearly choked.

This bag belonged to the small young bunny from the inn. But now they were gone, the bag abandoned just like their homes. Had they been in a hurry to leave? Did the mother drag her daughter away, when Lily didn't want to leave the blue bag with the yellow lunchbox which was so carefully, lovingly made? Their dust would be somewhere around Snowdin. Mingling with the fresh and frozen snow. 

_Don't think about that now._

They looked at the bisicle the lunchbox still held, but decided to leave it be. There was still dinner to think about. And breakfast the next day. And, perhaps, the days after that.

 _Speaking of which . . ._ Frisk continued to search around the building for more food. They found two more cinnamon bunnies behind the counter, along with another bisicle and a crab apple (did this rabbit monster know Gerson?). They put these items into the lunchbox and gently closed it, trying not to imagine the soft, furry hands that closed it before them.

They dug further into the decrepit store and managed to find a few spare blankets, which would make Frisk's nights warmer and more comfortable. They rolled them up and put them in the backpack. The human also found a couple of bandages (they placed a couple on their back over their cuts) and a dusty book.

It was just a normal book -- the cover tatty and the print small and fine with the pages yellowing. But, despite it all, Frisk found themselves sitting on the floor reading the small book, unable to tear their eyes away from the words inked on the pages.

It was in no way a masterpiece. It told the story of a shop-owner that lived in a a small town, in which she waited for someone to come and sweep her off her feet. The tale had small errors such as continuity and grammar mistakes but was still somewhat entertaining.

Was this book from the library ( _librarby_ \-- Frisk smirked at the memory)? The human flicked through it, trying to find an author, but could not find one. Perhaps this book was old and the author's name and simply worn away? Or maybe this particular story was the reimagining of the shop-owner that resided in this very store, told and written to escape boredom? Frisk could imagine the rabbit monster scribbling in this book when the store was absent of customers, writing with that thin, black pen with handwriting so neat and careful.

"you like looking through people's stuff, huh?"

Frisk jumped, the book falling from their fingers in surprise. Their gaze immediately found Sans, who was staring at them from the doorway, that liquid still dripping lazily from his left eye socket. Light blared from behind him -- still indicating that it was day -- so why was he here now? And how long was he standing there?

Frisk felt their face flush with colour. They weren't stealing, were they? There was no one who owned these things anymore. Maybe Frisk was disrespecting their memories? But the human had to live on something. They were going to save this timeline, they just needed resources to aid them on the way.

The human opened their mouth to say something but was interrupted by the stout skeleton letting out a low chuckle. He seemed pleased to have flustered them, judging by the smirk he was giving them. Sans gave them one last look before he turned away and left.

A few inhales and exhales, and Frisk was able to calm down. Their fingers crept towards the fallen book, seeking to pick up from where they left off. A book's purpose is to be read, after all. The rabbit monster had written this story for someone to read, not just herself.

Their fingertips had just brushed the dust jacket when a large bone erupted from the spine of the book. Frisk scrambled backwards in alarm. They looked to the doorway, but the skeleton responsible was nowhere to be seen. Only droplets of cyan and yellow splattered on the imprints of pink slippers. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to post this just in time for Saturday. It's technically 10:30pm here, so I apologise for the late(ish) update.
> 
> Also sorry that this is a filler chapter! More interesting stuff is going to happen in the next chapter, I assure you. I just thought that there needed to be a chapter to establish how Frisk is now living in Snowdin, along with them getting a long-awaited snack.
> 
> And another thing: over 40 kudos and over 600 hits! Wow guys! You guys are amazing and I'm so grateful that you're enjoying this mess that is my story! Thank you so much ^-^


	8. You Called for Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has a dream involving a mysterious person offering help. The human then tries to follow their instructions.

_Cold air caressed Frisk’s skin, causing goose-bumps to surface in response. Water lapping at their bare shins, a shiver trailing up their spine at the feeling. Rumbling like thunder pounding in their ears, like a never-ending chorus of drum beats. Behind the sound – quieter, more tentative – was an eerie whispering._

_Frisk opened their eyes. But they saw nothing of what they felt._

Where am I? _Frisk said. Everything was hazy, the edges of every shape and object blurred beyond comprehension. Everything was just shades of blue, ranging from lighter shades to deep cobalts to dark sapphires. All they could see was blue._

_And then red. Their body seemed to be glowing a bright crimson. A bright red that pushed away the blue. Frisk looked down at their body in confusion, opening and closing their palms. The red that emitted from their body seemed familiar – it ringed a bell in the far corners of their mind._

Red, right? For your soul?

_The human looked up from their hands. In front of them, was a light that glowed white, just as they glowed red. As it moved closer to the human, they could decipher the shape of something – someone. They realised that it was not glowing white as they thought, but an entire multitude of colours – orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue and purple. Different colours that phased and blended with each other, all emitted from the person._

_It stopped a few metres away. Frisk squinted, trying to discern and identify the silhouette of the glowing person, trying to tie this creature with a name. The person was familiar, but the human could not figure out who they were._

Who are you? Where are we? _Frisk asked, waving their glowing arms to emphasise._

I-I . . . _The figure looked down at their hands._ I’m not sure who I am. I can’t remember. I have snippets of memories but I can’t . . . _They clenched their hands in frustration, their shoulders hunching. Their voice was familiar to Frisk, but they couldn’t put their finger on it. They knew that they had heard it before, back when they first fell. They had heard it on many occasions, but now Frisk had no idea._

It’s OK, _Frisk replied. The person seemed to be struggling with their identity, and Frisk felt their heart swell with sympathy. They went through the same thing when they first fell in the Underground when they were seven. They never recovered those memories, all except a name. They figured that perhaps their amnesia was for the best._ I understand. So, instead, where are we? Why are we here?

_The creature unclenched their hands, letting them fall to their sides._ We’re here because I put you here. I can’t speak to you in person; I’m not strong enough. But I managed to bring you here as soon as you fell asleep, as soon as you started to dream. _The person looked around, as if they were listening to the rumbling._ I don’t know exactly where we are. I can’t see what this place looks like from where I am, so I assumed from what I could hear. What I could feel.

Why bring me here? _Frisk asked curiously, shifting their feet. They could feel water rippling around them, emanating small splashes._

_The figure turned their head back to them._ Because you called for help.

_Frisk was about to say that they did no such thing, but the memory flooded back. After they had their nightmare, as they were falling asleep, their soul had called for help. They were half-certain that someone responded as they were slipping into slumber. Frisk didn’t know that they could still do that, or that it would work._

You’re here to help me? _Frisk whispered with a slight tilt of their head._

_The person laughed, and a memory was tugging at the back of Frisk’s mind. They had heard their laughter before._ Of course I’m here to help! It’s almost like something is pushing me to . . . but even without that, I still would. But I’m not much use to you at the moment, not in person, anyway.

You’re still helping, _Frisk stated, a small smile forming on their face,_ and I’m grateful for that.

Thank you. _The figure said. Frisk was sure that they could see them smile._

Hold on . . . did you say that you can’t help me in person? As though . . . do you exist in the timeline I’m in? _Frisk’s eyes widened, the red glow growing brighter somewhat._

_The figure shuffled their feet and looked down, the colours produced from them swirling in jagged motions._ Yes . . . I’m in the same timeline as you . . . _They sounded hesitant._

_Frisk felt joy suddenly leap in their soul. They weren’t alone! They weren’t alone with Sans, there was another person here to help! The human was ecstatic, and they nearly jumped up and down on the spot if not for a thought tearing at their excitement._

But . . . if you’re here then . . . _Frisk felt themselves lower from their initial high,_ why didn’t you make yourself known to Sans?

_The creature looked away with their feet shuffling, causing tiny, anxious splashes. The different colours gyrated in haphazard manoeuvres, jerking and twitching. They seemed . . . embarrassed? Ashamed?_

I-I . . . I’m sorry. _The creature still avoided Frisk’s gaze._ I wish I did before but I couldn’t. I was asleep, or in a coma, or something. I wasn’t awake . . . I wasn’t truly here. Just . . . slumbering. I couldn’t be roused from it. Only when you called for help did I wake up.

Oh. _Frisk looked down._ That’s OK. You’re helping now.

_The figure seemed to shake themselves out of their guilt._ That reminds me! We don’t have enough time here.

We don’t have –? _Frisk began to say before their gaze caught on a flickering blue spot near them. The blue seemed to be wavering, like a candle, the colour leeching away._

Yes. _The person noticed where the human was looking._ We don’t have much time. I brought you here to help, and I know something – someone – that can help you too. There’s six of them . . . you just need to find them.

_Frisk looked back suddenly at the figure, realisation prickling at the edges of their mind._ Six? Like the human souls, right?

_Frisk saw what they thought was a knowing smile. A memory pulled at them again. They knew this person, but their brain failed to remember. A sluggish image of a bed of golden flowers came to mind. Why did they think of that?_ Perhaps, _the person said._ But you need to find the first one.

_The flickering of the environment spread, stark whiteness dragging at the blue, the colour draining away. The person in front of Frisk still shined their respective colours, yet they were slightly fading into the background. Frisk knew that time was running out._

Where do I find them? _Frisk asked. The water – the water that Frisk could not see – swirled around their legs, tempting them to be sucked into its twirling vortex._

_The figure was paling, becoming more translucent by the second, yet Frisk could still see their smile._ You asked for help and I responded. Now you need to respond to someone else’s.

_Blue and white swirled, the water from under them vanishing, and Frisk’s legs gave way._

_They were falling . . ._

Frisk woke suddenly, gasping for breath and sweat beading from their brow. The human rose into a sitting position, pulling their legs up to their chest. They sucked in short breaths, dragging oxygen into their burning lungs.

_What – who . . ._ Frisk rubbed at their eyes, sleep caught in the corners. They urged their frantic, beating heart to slow. _What was that?_

The dream had felt eerily real. They had felt cold water lapping at their legs, drawing the heat from their body. The cold air playing with their stray strands of hair still sent chills down their back.

And that person . . . who were they? Frisk tapped their index fingers to their temples, willing the memories to surface. The bed of golden flowers came to mind. No other images reached them; Frisk let out a frustrated huff.

Where would they be? Frisk had felt water up to their shins, so had they been in a river? There was also an abundance of blue and the sounds of rumbling and faint whispering.

_Waterfall?_ Frisk thought, biting their bottom lip in thought. All signs pointed to the place; the rumbling being the waterfall, the whispering being the echo flowers and the blue being the area’s general colour-scheme. The person that was helping them was clearly there, but Frisk couldn’t go and find them. Sans had warned them about leaving Snowdin and, after the incident back at the golden flowers, they didn’t want to risk it just yet. Frisk sought to make him more comfortable and trusting of them, and disobeying him didn’t seem like the way to go.

They sighed and reached with their left hand, dragging the blue backpack onto their lap. Opening the pocket, they brought out the metal drink bottle and sipped the cold water tentatively. The water must be a type of ‘monster food’, as the liquid vanished upon swallowing and they felt more refreshed.

After their reading material was destroyed, Frisk had exited the store and gone for a walk, the blue bag slapping against their back. They had filled up their drink bottle with water bottles found in the ruined houses. They had gone back into the forest in the hopes to find a puzzle, but all had been stuck or ruined beyond repair. Frisk had been back at the shed a few minutes before sunset after struggling to extract a winter jacket from the rubble of a house, the arm sleeve being caught under a plank of wood. The skeleton didn’t say anything to the human, and hardly responded to when Frisk offered him a cinnamon bunny. Sans had just given them a fleeting look with that one glowing eye and practically shoved them into the shed for the night. Not wanting to sleep on the cold, hard floor again, they had used two of the blankets they found as a mattress, using the remaining two blankets – the one they found and the one Sans gave them – as a blanket. They had fallen asleep in two seconds.

_That person in my dream . . ._ Frisk thought, their thoughts returning to the dream rather than the day’s events, _they said that there is six people that can help me. The six human souls, maybe? Patience, bravery, integrity, perseverance, kindness and justice? But I need to find the ‘first one’, which would be patience, I suppose. I have to respond to their call for help._

Frisk put the drink bottle back into the backpack, lifted it off their lap and set it beside their makeshift bed. Lying back down, they looked up through the hole in the roof, the glinting stones on the cavern ceiling blinking faintly at them from behind the wisps of cloud.

_I’ll find you_ , Frisk thought, the image of the cyan soul of patience surfacing. _I’ll respond to your call for help. I’ll make sure that somebody came._

 

* * *

 

Frisk had again woken to Sans’s sharp knock on the door. He had opened the door soon after without waiting for Frisk’s reply and walked off, as if he had something to do. The human had slung their bag on their back and had ventured around Snowdin. They had searched for more supplies, finding a pad of paper and a pencil, along with another blanket and a striped shirt (they had pushed away the sound thought of Monster Kid), but they primarily searched for the call for help. Frisk had practically examined the whole town for any signs of the rumoured calling, but there was none. They had climbed onto unstable rooftops, but all they could hear was the creaking of the wood at their feet, straining to hold their weight. They had wandered into the forest, climbing the tallest trees, but all they could hear was the whistling of wind through the branches. Frisk had even pressed their ears up to doors, but could still hear nothing. The day had ended quickly, their mood reflecting the darkness of the approaching night.

More days had passed, but Frisk could still not find the calling voice. They had ransacked Grillby’s a couple of days later to find more food, discovering several packets of burger buns and frozen fries. But there was no leftover ketchup that Frisk could see (had Sans taken them all?). They seemed to just wander around Snowdin aimlessly from dawn to dusk, their ears still straining to hear the voice.

Sometimes Sans showed up, standing behind them from a couple of metres away. Frisk never knew how long he had been there for, with that one dripping eye fixed on them. After being discovered, the skeleton would just turn around and walk away without a word. Frisk knew not to follow him.

Frisk had tried talking to him, though. When Sans opened the door to the toolshed and when he closed it the human often tried to make conversation. The human had offered him food, asking if he wanted some fries (which Frisk had cooked on the day they found them) or a bisicle. They asked about his day, what they could do to help and so on. Sans had never said much, only short, clipped answered that were forced as if Frisk was physically tearing them from his non-existent throat.

With all those days passed, Frisk still failed to find the voice. The person in their dreams didn’t reappear again.

After a couple of days, the human found themselves walking through the forest. The clouds above were grey, snow gently falling from them. Despite the soft, slow snowfall, it still proved to be cold. The chilled wind brushed past the human, causing them to shiver and adjust the winter jacket to cover more of their exposed neck.

“I really should find a scarf,” Frisk murmured, putting their hands in the jacket pockets. They could vaguely remember a small mouse monster with a large scarf from back when the human first fell. They stopped walking and turned around to face the direction of Snowdin, their mind contemplative.

Why were they even in the forest? They had walked this way numerous times, still not hearing the voice of the human with the cyan soul. Their determination prevented them from giving up searching (even in the places they had already looked), but the idea of having a warm article of clothing warming their neck was quite suitable. Frisk started walking towards the town; they could come back to the forest later.

But they heard it.

Perhaps it had been the whistling of the wind playing with the tree branches, or maybe the sound of fresh snow underfoot, but it made the human freeze.

Frisk listened, not daring to move a muscle.

They heard it again.

A whisper.

Frisk whipped around quickly and ran deeper into the forest. The sound got louder, but was still faint – soft. They leapt over fallen tree trunks, their barks covered with snow. Their blue backpack was smacking against their back as they ran, the zipper making a quiet jangling noise. Their heart was pounding with excitement as they ducked under the bars that Papyrus had long built, practically sprinting towards the door to the Ruins.

The stopped just before they could smack into the purple, wooden door. Frisk – panting from exertion – pressed their ear against the door and waited.

There was a soft voice; definitely human in origin. It was quiet, but it made Frisk’s soul virtually shake, as if the voice was much louder than it was. They had heard it before, just a couple of days ago.

Frisk remembered walking through the Ruins with Sans after the skeleton found them at the golden flowers. The human was quite distracted throughout the journey, and at one point they started walking towards a room that Sans was not leading them to. They had heard something calling for help, and their very instincts urged them to go to it. The person calling them now _must_ have been the person they had heard before.

Hearing the voice made Frisk want to rip open the doors and run towards it with abandon. Frisk’s legs shook and their hand began to subconsciously crept towards the door handle.

Their fingers paused and the human looked over their shoulder. Sans had warned them about leaving Snowdin. He didn’t say what happened specifically, but they knew that he wouldn’t let them off with a warning. He would do something more drastic, something more painful.

_if you leave, i’ll know, so don’t even try it._

But, Frisk leaving was for a good thing. The cyan soul can help both of them, not just Frisk. Somehow, along with the other five, it can help both Sans and Frisk. All Frisk had to do was just go into the Ruins, retrieve the soul and come right back out. A couple of minutes, perhaps. That wouldn’t hurt . . . right?

Sans said that he would know if they leave, but he knows that Frisk would be doing it for a good reason. For the past few days, as the human tried looking for the voice, they would write down ideas of how to get out and fix this timeline. They would write as they walked, often crumpled pieces of paper and discarding them out of frustration, the wadded balls landing softly onto the snow. On one occasion, Frisk had turned around to see Sans holding the pieces of paper, that one eye moving back and forth as he read Frisk’s writing. The skeleton was so engrossed that he didn’t realise Frisk was staring at him, their cheeks filling up with colour. Sans had stared back, his expression stoic. He apparent to be searching them.

“nice ideas, human. but i've tried them all,” Sans had said before walking away, dropping the pieces of paper as he did. That was the friendliest he had ever been towards Frisk.

So Sans knew that Frisk was trying to help him. The person in their dream had told them that finding the one calling for help would help, so how could this be wrong? Sans would understand after Frisk returned. Maybe he would even help them find the remaining five souls.

Filled with determination, Frisk let their fingers grip the door handle, and they opened the door to the Ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many questions to be asked with this chapter.
> 
> Like who was the mysterious person in their dreams? Why did Frisk glow red whilst the person was a multitude of colours? Where in Waterfall were they? And, maybe, why was the cyan soul calling for help? Was it to be found, or is there something more?
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys! I'm honestly so stoked at the kudos and hits that this story has gotten; thank you all so much.
> 
> Also, I realised something pretty stupid. The Underground doesn't have a sky. I wrote a couple of chapters in this saying that there was. I'm an idiot. ^.^'
> 
> Ah well, I'll fix it later.
> 
> Enjoy the update!
> 
> **Edit:** I fixed the whole sky problem. Now there's now sky in the Underground. Sorry monsters.


	9. Filled with Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk finds the cyan soul of patience.

The basement was dark, the sliver of light from Snowdin through the crack in the door being the only source of illumination. The hallway was sinister, seeming to draw the light away into its murky, damp depths. It held an unsettling quietness, the sound of Frisk’s ragged breathing and the distant calling voice echoing around the room. The air smelt of mould and mildew, heavy and dense, seeming to smother their body.

Frisk tried not to pay attention to the pile of dust that used to be their mother in front of them. Upon opening the door, they stretched their leg as far as it could go to the left and sidestepped it.  They pushed the door gently closed, darkness swallowing the room and extinguishing the light.

They slung their backpack off their shoulders and riffled through it blindly. Their fingers curled around a small lantern, which immediately glowed a faint blue upon contact, washing the room in blue. Frisk had found the lantern the day before in an abandoned house. They had instantly recognised it as one of the lanterns in the light maze in Waterfall, where they had to keep the path alight so they could navigate through it. The lanterns had activated upon their touch, glowing bright and keeping the darkness at bay.

The human zipped their bag back up and put it back on, holding the lantern in their left hand. The lantern they found was old, and didn’t radiate as much light as the ones in Waterfall. The light it emitted was blue, yet it flickered and pulsed erratically like a struggling flame. It made shadows dance along the walls; ghostly fingers stretching their fingers towards them as if to pluck them from the world.

Frisk started walking down the hallway, guided by the ghostly blue light. As they walked a few metres, they couldn’t help but to look back at the heap of white dust by the door.

Was this what Toriel felt like, when she had let them go nine years ago? After she had hugged them, walking away and glancing over her shoulder, as if she thought that it was the last time she would see them? Did she stand in Frisk’s place, looking back at her child, not seeing a pile of dust like the human now did, but a dead body instead?

The human swallowed and looked down at their feet. _I can’t think about this now._

They turned back around and walked towards the stairs, forcing themselves not to look at the pile that was once their mother.

Frisk climbed up the stairs, every step filling the empty house with the sound of creaks. The light of the lantern seemed to weaken under the oppressive darkness of the house, glowing fainter and fainter with each step up the stairs. For once, the human was wistful of Sans’s presence; that eye glowed brighter than the lantern ever would. The image of Sans’s furious face after he finds out that they left came to their mind, and they quickly picked up the pace.

They reached the top of the stairwell, their movements stirring the dust on the floor and causing it to swirl like mist. The furniture cast tall shadows that played on the walls, looming over them like a horde of dark figures. The wallpaper was cracked and peeling. The air was more putrid and humid, enveloping their lungs and causing them to splutter. Their throat felt uncomfortable and tight, invisible hands wrapping around Frisk’s neck. It was as if the very house was wishing them ill-will.

Did Toriel’s ghost roam this empty house? Or was the muffled cluttering of pots in the kitchen, the crackling of the fire in the lounge, the rustle of someone adjusting their position on the armchair and the quiet humming of a familiar tune all an illusion? The air pressed down on the human, the household exhaling its foul breath onto Frisk like a threatening, feral animal. It was oppressive, domineering, officious; a towering enemy that was backing them into the corner. Meanwhile, the voice was louder, relentless in its frequent calls for help.

Frisk knew that it was just their mind playing tricks on them – the house didn’t _actually_ express unnatural hostility towards them – but they couldn’t help but practically run to the front door and lunge outside.

They sucked in a lungful of air that was only slightly fresher than the air inside Toriel’s house. Nevertheless, Frisk took several deep breaths, allowing each inhalation to soothe their seized throat.

The outside was marginally brighter, but darkness still lingered in the corners and along the walls. The large tree in front of Toriel’s house sat squat in the garden, its branches twisted and gnarled. Its amber leaves pooled around its misshapen roots. The tree looked awfully sinister with the absence of wind, as though it was a predator poised and waiting to strike with its sharp, knobbly limbs and fingers.

Frisk set off walking again, their left hand still clutched around the lantern to provide light and a small degree of comfort. They held their breath as they passed the tree, their back ramrod straight as they waited for it to lash at them or curl its branches around their ankle. Its fallen leaves crunched under the human’s shoes. Frisk breathed a sigh of relief as it made no movement against them, but immediately felt foolish.

_The tree is just a tree,_ Frisk thought. _It will not harm me._

As they exited the room, the calling voice became louder, more urgent. It seemed to tug and pull at the edges of Frisk’s mind. The human found themselves falling into a sprint, darting to the northern room which once – by their memories – held a Froggit.

They entered the northern room nearly dropped their lantern in surprise. It was just as they remembered, but a bright pair of lights emanated from the door to Frisk’s left. Bright cyan and red flashed and pulsed, reminding them of a strobe light from the nightclub they had been to a couple of years back (bringing Papyrus was a mistake; their group had lost sight of him in under thirty seconds and took seven hours to find him again). The light was so bright that the lantern’s emission was swamped by the glowing blue and red. The air hummed with power, a power that they felt pulse in their own soul. Frisk’s legs felt like jelly. Their fingers were numb.

With shaky hands, Frisk returned the lantern to their backpack. It wouldn’t be needed in here; the light was bright enough to cause them to squint. The voice had ceased, but the human was not troubled. They knew that it had come from the room to their left. Patience was in there, in the room where the Froggit saw Toriel leave out of, all those years ago. But something told Frisk that the cyan soul would not be buying groceries like the goat monster had been.

Something was attacking them.

The cyan light no doubt came from the soul of patience. But then, who was the red . . .? Frisk’s own red soul of determination was quivering in their chest and the sight of the crimson flashes. Someone was in there that had a soul of determination like they did. And Frisk had only heard of one person in the Underground who did . . .

Chara.

The human, with unstable legs, slowly walked to the door. It was open, but Frisk walked close to the wall, their back pressed up against it as they slid closer to it. Their heart hammered like a drum, but their soul hammered even faster. It was shaking, jerking, almost ripping out of their chest. A bead of sweat trickled down their forehead as they inched closer to the open door.

Frisk, taking a deep breath, peered inside the room.

It wasn’t a room as much as it was a balcony. Dark castles and buildings loomed in the distance, no light blaring from their open windows. The dark cavern held no shining rocks on the ceiling. The balcony was thin and long, black railing tracing its outside like a tall wall.

But Frisk was more surprised of the two humans battling in it.

To Frisk’s left was a human younger than Frisk, possibly around seven or eight. The human glowed a bright cyan, and their soul of the same colour bobbed and hovered in front of their chest. They wore a striped sweater, but Frisk could not pinpoint the colour. In their hand was a toy knife.

To Frisk’s right was again a younger human around the same age as the other. They glowed a bright red, as did their soul. Their soul, however, was a fragment, as if all other pieces had been ripped away. It looked as though it needed six more pieces to be whole. A knife was in their hand but, unlike the others, was not made of plastic. This knife was metal and shiny, the glowing red of its owner glinting off the sharp blade. A twisted smile curled on their face.

_Chara . . ._ Frisk thought, their legs starting to shake. It was no doubt that Chara was the one who stuck with them throughout their journey in the Underground when they were seven. Whispering in the back of Frisk’s mind with every monster encounter, urging them to take up a knife and slash it into dust. The human who plotted to kill every human on the surface. After years of pondering, Frisk could finally put the name to the face.

The two glowing humans looked translucent, semi-corporeal, as though they were ghosts. The two humans were fighting, that was what Frisk could see. Chara would lunge forward, their knife swinging madly, and Patience would attempt to back away. When their knives met, Patience would make a few defensive moves before slipping out of Chara’s reach. It was clear that Patience did not want to fight.

The cyan human backed away, their spine pressed against the balcony wall. The red human rushed towards them, their knife arcing to jab their chest. But Patience raised their toy knife – somehow still together after their frenzied slashes at each other – and an array of large, cyan knives materialised above them. With a downward sweep of the toy knife, the barrage of cyan knives shot towards Chara. The cyan knives that contacted the red human vanished, and Chara winced, staggering backwards as though they had been hurt. As they were still, the cyan knives went through them with no obvious effect.

Frisk frowned. The blue knives hitting Chara had reminded them of something. But only a blue stop sign came into mind.

_if you see a blue attack, don’t move and it won’t hurt you,_ Sans’s voice said in the back of Frisk’s head. He had said that before Frisk’s battle with Papyrus, also telling them to imagine a blue stop sign instead of a red one. Patience was using blue attacks to fight?

Chara recovered from the onslaught surprisingly quickly and lunged at the cyan human. They tried to raise their toy knife in defence, but the real knife slashed at their chest. Patience let out a cry of pain.

_Help!_ They called, their arm sluggish as they moved to block Chara’s next attack. _Anyone? Please?_

Frisk’s soul jumped, and the older human lurched forward into the room, unable to stop themselves. As soon as they set foot in the room, their red soul was torn from their chest. It hovered a few centimetres in front of them, moving from side to side and glowing brightly.

“Hey!” Frisk yelled. The two humans wavered and turned to look at the new human. “Don’t hurt them!”

Chara scowled and walked a few paces towards them, their brow furrowing in confusion. Their red eyes stared at Frisk’s soul, blinking quickly. The red glow emitted from them faded slightly. From behind them, the cyan human looked at Frisk with relief; their help had come.

_Your soul is like mine . . ._ Chara whispered. Frisk sucked in a sharp breath as they heard it. Chara’s voice was that of a child, quiet and slightly sing-song. Their voice sounded as though it was said inside Frisk’s head, rather than via their lips. This was the voice that plagued Frisk’s mind at night, laughing at their nightmares. Through the wisps of fear clouding their mind, Frisk felt confusion. Chara’s voice inside their head when they were younger knew that they both had souls of determination. So why was this one so confused?

When Frisk did not reply, Chara’s frown twisted into a small smile. _You and I are determination incarnate. We can achieve anything together._ The red human turned and pointed their knife and Patience, letting out a laugh. _We can kill_ them. _We can kill them_ all _._

Chara turned back to Frisk, a gleeful, fanatic smile on their face. _Together, we can show the world the true meaning of existence,_ they said. Their red eyes searched Frisk’s horrified expression with a sort of vindictive pleasure. _This human behind me –_ they waved their left hand in Patience’s direction – _tried to help me. When I felt the worst, they responded to my call for help. I went to them, but what did they tell me?_ The fingers on their right hand curled tighter around the handle of the knife. Rage prickled at the edges of their red eyes. _They told me to wait! They told me that someone will come to set us both free. They told me to be_ patient.

Chara was glowing brighter, crimson light lashing on the wall behind them. Their fragment soul shook. Patience started walking towards Frisk, a strange sort of awe on their face. They went to pass Chara to approach Frisk.

Fury played on Chara’s face and their left hand grabbed the cyan human’s right wrist. Patience screamed as they were suddenly pulled to the ground, their wrist ensnared in Chara’s vice-like grip. The red human straddled Patience’s waist, their left hand pinning their wrist and the real knife poised over the cyan human’s throat.

“Let them go!” Frisk shouted, stepping forward.

_Patience is futile,_ Chara spat, their face mere centimetres from the cyan human’s. _Why wait, when you can have what you want_ now?

They pressed the knife’s tip into Patience’s throat and the other human screeched, the cyan light around them going into spasm.

“I said let them go!” Frisk yelled.

They ran forward and yanked Chara’s arm back, the knife raising. In their surprise, Chara’s fingers slackened, and they dropped the knife, the weapon skittering on the floor. Frisk quickly grabbed the knife and held it in both hands, pointing it at Chara. The red knife vibrated under Frisk’s fingers, their soul quivering in unison.

“Get off them!” Frisk ordered, aiming the knife at the offending human. “I mean it!”

Chara giggled, their smile wide and menacing. _Have you ever used a knife before?_ they crooned sweetly, cocking their head to the side. They raised their arms in surrender, stepping away from the cyan human. Patience scrambled away, their hands clutching at their throat. Their cyan glow pulsed weakly.

_Well? Go on then!_ Chara urged, stepping towards Frisk confidently. Frisk took a step back, the knife shaking in their grip. _You threaten me with a knife and then not use it? What are you afraid of? Go ahead. Stab me!_

Chara’s goading remined Frisk of their voice in Frisk’s head. Constant encouraging whispers that told them to kill every monster they saw. _Just kill them,_ their voice had said at the back of Frisk’s mind. _What’s the harm? You can just reset . . . and no one will remember a thing . . ._ Frisk never gave in to it, but their refusal did not stop the torrent of nightmares that ailed them in their sleep. Dreams of murdering Toriel, watching her dust descend onto the purple floor of the Ruins. Slicing Papyrus’s head off his shoulders. Stabbing a knife into Undyne’s other eye. Slashing San’s chest, cackling as they finally saw his unrelenting grin falter. Frisk had always woken up in cold sweat, their fingers curled as though they still held the cold blade.

Frisk’s brown eyes fell on the knife they held in both hands. Their soul flashed in panic, their fingers letting go of the weapon. The knife arced upwards into Chara’s waiting hand, their fingers wrapping around it automatically.

Chara laughed and slashed at Frisk. The human quickly leapt to the side, backing away from the smaller human and their knife.

_Weakness._ Chara followed Frisk, their footsteps slow and deliberate. Stalking Frisk like a hunter to an animal. _You are weak, just like this patient scum. Pathetic, nothing but a feeble red light in the darkness. How can you fight – how can you survive – when you cannot even bear the sight of a weapon?_

Chara darted forward, swinging their blade. Frisk dodged, sidestepped and leapt all their attacks, their body twisting to avoid the hostile weapon. Dodging was like second nature to Frisk; they had done it tirelessly to evade attacks when they first fell. Even when they made it up onto the surface, and Undyne offered to train them to fight, they had refused. Fighting was not the answer to Frisk. Dodging may come naturally to them, but it fell second to something more important.

“Mercy,” Frisk said, jumping backwards out of reach of the blade. “Mercy is more important than fighting. Sparing, not fighting, is what makes you strong.”

A laugh escaped Chara’s lips at Frisk’s reply. They paused their attack, standing straight with their knife at their side. Even though they were significantly shorter than Frisk, they seemed to be towering over them.

_Mercy is an illusion,_ Chara said. The raised their knife and traced the edge of their smile with the tip of the blade. _There is no sparing, only fighting. There is only_ kill _or be_ killed!

They shot towards Frisk, but Frisk, anticipating the move, quickly sidestepped.

The two were caught in a type of curious dance. Chara lunged and sprang and dashed, their knife flashing, slicing, slashing. Frisk leapt, dodged, sidestepped out of the way every time. On and on, Chara would attack and Frisk would leap out of the way. It was relentless.

Chara desperately held onto the illusion of their unyielding vitality and strength, but Frisk could see that they were getting more frustrated, more tired. Frisk had seen several battles in the Underground and beyond, and they knew more than anyone the trick of being patient. If one waited, not overexerting themselves, then they could outlast their opponent and win. When monsters had attacked Frisk in the Underground, Frisk often had to act or say certain things multiple times before they could effectively spare them. It required patience. Frisk was patient, but Chara, as it seems, was not.

Chara tried to hit Frisk, their swings getting more wild and less focused with every second. They were attempted to strike immediately after their previous one had ended, leaving their arm possibly aching. They were slashing with all their strength rather than conserving it, all while Frisk dodged and evaded their attacks with little energy. Chara wanted to end the fight as soon as possible, whereas Frisk did not care. Chara was not patient.

During their battle, the cyan human had crawled into a corner with their left hand at their damaged throat and the other holding their toy knife. Their azure glow had slowly grown in brightness until they were summoning translucent blue knives and directing them at Chara to help Frisk. With every frantic swing from Chara, a blue knife would strike their sides, causing them to stagger in pain.

Chara made a feral slice which Frisk easily dodged. The red human let out a roar of frustration as another blue knife slashed at their back, immediately disappearing upon contact.

_Fight back!_ Chara growled, aiming another messy stab at their opponent. Frisk calmly jumped sideways to avoid it. _Stop with this dodging! Fight me!_ Their voice was strained, ragged breaths piercing their speech. Their shoulders sagged and they moved their arms as if they were weighed by sandbags. Each swing was progressively more difficult.

“I will always dodge,” Frisk replied, a single rivulet of sweat trailing down their forehead. Their hair was untidy and unkempt with the continued dodging, their clothes sticking to their skin. “I will always show you mercy.”

Chara huffed and let their arm hand fall to their side. Their fingers still clutched the knife. Patience let the blue knives hovering above them dissipate.

_Why? Why show me mercy?_ Chara asked incredulously, their voice soft.

Frisk let a small smile form on their face. “Because it’s right to do so. For every living thing. ‘Don’t kill, and don’t be killed, that’s the best you can hope for’.”

Chara grew still, their eyes focused on Frisk’s face. Their soul shook. The tilted their head down, their eyes staring at their shoes.

_Asriel said that, didn’t he?_

“Yes.”

_He was a weak fool._

“No. He was stronger than the lot of us.”

_I suppose . . ._ Chara’s shoulders hunched. Their spine suddenly straightened and they looked Frisk squarely in the eye, their gaze intense and outspoken. _Look. I am the hope of humans and monsters. I can’t just wait here and do nothing. I can’t just be ‘patient’ like that piece of trash over there wants me to be._

Frisk’s eyebrows furrowed. “What would you be waiting for?”

_Setting the monsters free!_ Chara cried. They raised their arms and turned a full circle to elaborate. _I am supposed to break the barrier and set them free! I can’t just wait here and do nothing while they are trapped! Patience wants me to wait because someone is coming to free us, but I can’t do that! They won’t do a good job! They won’t care for the monsters as much as I do! They will never come!_

Patience rose to their feet and walked towards the two, their blue light growing bright. _They are here,_ they whispered, their voice soft. The cyan human’s blue eyes fell on Frisk. _They are here now._

Chara looked from Patience to Frisk, their eyebrows raised. Frisk felt their cheeks heat up; Patience was looking at them with certainty while Chara looked between them both with disbelief.

_Them?!_ Chara scoffed, pointing at Frisk with the knife, causing the human to take a step back. _They don’t care about the monsters! They aren’t the hope that humans and monsters have been looking for!_

“Chara,” Frisk said, raising their hands placatingly. “I’m not from this timeline. In my timeline, I fell into the Underground as a child. I befriended the monsters, including Toriel, Asgore, Alphys, Undyne, Papyrus and Sans.”

Chara frowned, their eyes softening as they looked at Frisk. _You befriended my mother? And my dad?_

“Yes. I helped break the barrier and the monsters were set free. We lived up on the surface with the humans. Everyone is happy, and I helped save them.”

_That was that timeline,_ Chara spat, their red eyes displaying anger again. _Not this one._

“I know that. But someone here sent me here, to respond to the call for help.” Frisk nodded to Patience, who smiled sadly. Frisk looked back at Chara, who had their eyebrows raised, unimpressed. “That someone said that you guys can help me.”

Both Chara and Patience looked confused. Chara frowned, whilst the cyan human tilted their head to the side.

_Help you with what?_ Patience whispered, their voice uncertain.

“I want to save the remaining monster in this timeline,” Frisk explained. “I want to help this timeline, and then get back to mine.”

Patience was silent, but excitement lit up in Chara’s eyes. Their knife dissipated and a smile formed on their face. This smile looked gentler and was one of childish innocence rather than criminal intent.

_How long will it take?_ Chara asked. _How long will it take for us to save them?_

Frisk shrugged sheepishly. “Possibly a while. So, you’re just going to have to be –”

– _patient?_ Chara sighed, crossing their arms. Patience looked at the red human hopefully.

Chara huffed and threw up their hands. _Fine! I suppose that we must wait._ They turned to the cyan human and smiled. _That’s how the saying goes, rights? ‘All good things come with time’?_

The cyan human merely smiled.

Frisk opened their mouth to say something but was interrupted by their red soul flicking to a deep blue. They shrieked as they were suddenly sent sprawling, an invisible hand pushing them down to the ground. They cringed as they felt their bones creak with the force of it.

“w h a t  d i d  i  s a y  a b o u t – huh?” The weight pressing down on Frisk withdrew slightly, and Frisk moved their head. Sans stood in the doorway, the light from his yellow and cyan eye sputtering as it focused on the two glowing humans in the room. His cerulean hand dropped to his hip.

The two humans paid no attention to the skeleton. Instead, they held out a hand and grasped the other’s.

There was a bright light, and Chara and Patience were gone. A cyan ribbon hovered in space where the two were standing. As though caught by a gust of wind, it trailed towards Frisk, landing softly in front of their face. Frisk could hear it humming quietly, as if it held power.

Sans blinked quickly, his eye fixing itself on Frisk.

“well . . .” Sans started, the blue magic fading from Sans’s hand. The blue seeped away from Frisk’s soul, and they breathed a sigh of relief as it sunk back into their chest. They carefully picked up the ribbon and stood up, looking at it in confusion. It trembled softly against their skin.

“i'm assuming that you have quite the story to tell, huh?” Sans said.

Frisk let their gaze rise to him. His brow bones were met, and his smile was smaller, the edges taped downwards. His glowing eye leaked slowly, a single droplet sliding down his face at a snail’s pace. Frisk knew that it would take a while to explain what had happened.

Frisk was filled with patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, I spent the whole day writing this, so forgive me if it's really badly edited. 
> 
> But anyway! Frisk is getting themselves into trouble again, how exciting. And they've found Patience and Chara. But why is Chara's soul a fragment rather than the whole thing? Had the rest been shattered?
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys. Tell me your thoughts! Also comment if I made a mistake because, dang, I make a lot of those . . .


	10. A Very Determined Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk explains to Sans what happens, and then shares an idea that may set them both free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's 12:48am in the morning right now. I decided to suck it up and write this chapter for you guys, so I deleted the *Not a Chapter* chapter and replaced it with this one. 
> 
> Yes, this is an actual update this time. 
> 
> Have fun guys :)

“so let me get this straight,” Sans started, uncrossing his arms and leaning his skull against his left hand. “you heard a voice calling for help and decide to see what it was about, and by doing so completely ignoring my rule about not leaving snowdin?”

“I suppose so,” Frisk replied, shuffling their feet from under the table.

An hour after Sans had found Frisk and the two glowing humans, the two were seated at a booth in Grillby’s. When they had exited the Ruins, Frisk had found that the snowfall had increased – large flurries of snowflakes descending from dark grey clouds. They had involuntarily shivered from the bracing cold, quickly trotting after the skeleton with their hands covered by their jacket sleeves to ward off the cold. The two had quickly arrived at Grillby’s, where Sans had led them to an undamaged booth. They had promptly sat down opposite each other, the cyan ribbon placed in the centre of the table. It wasn’t long before the skeleton had assaulted Frisk with a barrage of questions. Frisk had done their best to answer, eventually finding themselves explaining the calling voice and their interaction with the two humans. 

“‘i suppose so’,” the skeleton mimicked, his smile tilting downwards in a small scowl. The air around him hummed lowly, his eye glowing brighter. The human attempted to lean further away from Sans – recognising his anger – but their soul was quickly ripped from their chest and turned blue. Frisk was immobilised, stuck with their head facing the skeleton’s.

Sans’s left arm lay on the table, the palm of his skeletal hand – glowing blue – displayed upwards with his phalanges splayed above. He partially curled his fingers towards his palm, causing Frisk’s soul to squeeze painfully. Tears beaded in the corners of their eyes as they held back a scream. Their body felt like it was being compressed, heavy weights pressing down on their chest and back. They struggled to breathe.

“so, you think you’re above my rules, huh?” Sans said, his voice low and dangerous. He squeezed Frisk’s soul again, a cry finally tearing itself from their lips. He smiled slightly at the sound. His eye glowed brighter.

“T-they said that it would h-help!” Frisk managed to choke out, their heat beating fast in response to the pain. “They said that responding – f-finding it – would help us!”

The skeleton frowned, the light emitting from his eye dimming. The grip on their soul slackened slightly. “who said?”

Frisk swallowed, their throat dry. “A person . . . in a dream.” Sans waved his hand, urging them to elaborate. “A couple of days ago, I had a dream. There was someone in it that said that they were here to help us fix this timeline. They told me that I had to respond to six calls for help from the six human souls. They told me that the human souls can help us.”

Sans was quiet. Instead of his eye sockets boring into Frisk’s eyes, they were focused on the ribbon on the table. 

“You know that I am trying to help you,” Frisk continued, making their voice soft and calming despite the pressure on their soul. “I want to fix this timeline just as much as you do. This person said that they – the human souls – can help us.” The human’s brown eyes flitted to the cyan ribbon, then back to the skeleton.

“there is no one else here,” Sans muttered partially to himself. “we’re the only ones in this timeline.”

Frisk winced. “Apparently not.”

Sans’s brow bones met and his smile grew thin, more like a grimace than a grin. His glowing eye flicked upwards, the dripping orb fixing itself on Frisk’s face. “where is this person? why did they hide from me?” The grip on Frisk’s soul returned, and the human drew a sharp breath.

“They didn't want to hide from you.” The human’s voice was calm, as though they were soothing an angry animal. “They were slumbering, sort of. They only woke when I subconsciously called for help. Then they contacted me in that dream. I don’t know where they are, and I think that they don’t know either.”

“but they know that you finding these human souls will help fix this timeline? human souls that, for some reason, have only showed up now?” Sans narrowed his eye sockets, the intensity of his gaze piercing into their eyes like a drill.

Frisk thought for a moment. “I suppose that the human souls were asleep too? That’s why they weren't here before?” They shrugged, uncertain.

“and that ribbon,” Sans said, waving his glowing left hand towards the clothing, “it holds those two humans?”

Frisk glanced down at the ribbon. It was tatty and torn, displaying obvious signs of wear. It was cyan in colour, though it was faded, indicating its old age. Despite its tattered appearance, it looked quite cute. Frisk could easily imagine the ribbon tying around a lock of hair on a child. 

“I think so,” the human said. Their fingers longed to reach out and touch it, let it hum against their skin. When they had held it, the ribbon vibrated with a reassuring power. It was as though it was telling them that everything would sort out, that they just had to be – 

Patient.

Chara was the voice that spoke in the back of their head, so long ago when they were a child. Frisk knew what their power felt like; overpowering, hostile and urging. Frisk knew that the other human of the red soul was not primarily present in the ribbon. The ribbon exuded a calmer aura, one that was soothing. The ribbon resonated the power of the patient soul, not the one of determination. 

“But I think that the human soul of patience is more present,” Frisk added. At their words, the ribbon glowed faintly. 

“that explains it, then,” Sans murmured, his eye descending to look at the article of clothing. The glow around the ribbon faded as the skeleton looked at it. Frisk frowned, confusion twisting itself through their mind. They had the feeling that he was talking about something else, rather than just the presence of human souls in this timeline. 

The skeleton seemed to be thinking, but Frisk was not certain. Whenever Frisk’s Sans was thinking deeply, his smile would recede a small amount and his white eye lights would flick downwards. But this Sans was still, not a single feature on his face twitching. The differences between the two Sanses wrought a deep sting to their soul, and they felt themselves once again missing their timeline.

As though he had been struck, Sans jerked back into movement, like a puppet with his strings finally operating once more. The blue glow of his left hand faded, and so with it faded the blue from Frisk’s soul. They breathed a sigh of relief as it sunk back into their chest, warmth flowing through them like fingers stretching towards the sun.

The skeleton slid out of the booth. Frisk – their neck stiff for being immobile for so long – turned their head to watch him. He adjusted his hoodie and slipped his cyan-and-yellow-stained hands back into its pockets. His gaze flicked towards them, and he answered their unasked question.

“i need to think,” he said, his voice gruff and slightly clipped. Frisk nodded, wincing at the motion. Their hand crept up to rub at their sore neck, restraining themselves from shooting Sans an accusing look. 

The skeleton looked once more at the ribbon sitting curled on the table. Frisk caught a flash of emotion on Sans’s face, quicker than the flare of a lightning bolt. His expression had changed to one of longing, as if the ribbon sitting on the table would bring him comfort. As quick as it had come, his face was again an impassive mask, and the skeleton walked towards the door.

 

* * *

 

Frisk sat in a lump of snow in the forest, the cyan ribbon hanging from their short brown hair. 

After Sans had left, the human had wandered aimlessly around Snowdin, feeling rather purposeless and lost. The ribbon provided some comfort, the soft, cyan glow emitting from it filling Frisk with patience. It was urging them not to jump to reckless behaviour, instead just to take life as it comes. When sundown had arrived, Sans had not said a word, instead opening the shed door and walking away quickly. Frisk had had a dreamless sleep, the ribbon held tightly to their chest.

The next morning was cold, fresh snow covering the ground in billowing white blankets. The snow overnight had been heavy; Frisk was practically swallowed knee deep into it as they stepped outside. Much to their chagrin, Sans appeared to walk quite comfortably on top of the snow, his stained, pink slippers not sinking a millimetre. Frisk figured that it was since he was a skeleton and, despite his thick, blocky bones (seeing Sans shirtless for the first time came as quite a shock to the nine-year-old Frisk), he was lighter than they were. 

The human sighed and prodded the snow in front of them with a stick. The person in their dreams had told them to find every human soul, but no call for help had reached their ears. Frisk felt as though the human souls would call for them in their own time, and was a process that would not be rushed.

Frisk was secretly glad that they had found Patience first. Otherwise, they were not sure if they would be so content with waiting. 

They scowled and wedged the branch into the snow. _What would the human souls do, anyway?_ Frisk thought, curiosity threading through their soul. _How would they save us?_

Humans had determination, with those with red souls having more in comparison to those who did not. Did putting all the human souls together have enough determination to fix this timeline? And how would they fix it? Would they reset this timeline and somehow bring Frisk back to theirs? 

“Can determination do that?” Frisk whispered, lightly playing their fingertip on the top of the stick, shift from side to side. 

Determination allows the user to reset timelines, save and allow them to persist when others would not. But could it also transport people along timelines? Was that possible?

“If monsters could hold determination, they would probably reset so they would win the war,” Frisk muttered. The wrapped their hand around the stick. The image of the amalgamates came to their mind, and they nearly dropped the stick as an idea swam into their head. 

Excitement coursed through them, the realisation of the idea setting their nerves aflame. Frisk felt themselves grin, their limbs jittery. The idea was a good one – one that could save this timeline without even needing the human souls. Not that the human souls weren’t equipped for the job, but Frisk felt like saving this Sans as soon as they could. The sooner they save this timeline and get back into their own, the better. The power of patience exuded by the ribbon sputtered against the torrent of their pure determination. 

They refused.

“Sans!” Frisk called, rising to their feet. 

They dropped the stick and whirled around, their excitement dulling the surprise at seeing that the skeleton was already several metres behind them. 

“what, human?” Sans said, raising a brow bone quizzically. His skull tilted to the side slightly, causing a drop of cyan and yellow to fall from his eye. He looked mildly confused at their sudden enthusiasm.

“Humans have determination, right?” Frisk started, forcing themselves not to bounce up and down like a child.

“yes?”

“And – if they have enough – they can reset timelines, save and reload, right?”

“yes?” Irritation flickered on his features. “get to the point.”

“Well, I don’t have enough determination to reset this timeline. But if I were to somehow get enough, from a certain location in the Underground, then I’ll be able to. And, therefore, fix this timeline.” Frisk grinned at the skeleton, the determination in their soul mingling with their happiness. The patience from the ribbon drowned under the mixture that stirred quickly in their soul, the calm, unspoken advice from the cyan soul wrestled quiet. It felt as though they were trying to warn Frisk . . . as though their idea was a bad one and would lead them to trouble. 

Sans frowned, bewilderment causing his brow bones to meet and his smile to fade. The liquid dripping from his eye reduced to a slow drip. The light from his eye was sputtering like a failing candle.

Then, realisation dawned, the light from his eye glowing brighter than Frisk had ever seen. 

“there’s leftover determination in the true lab in hotland,” Sans said, his confused frown tapering upwards to form a grin. Out of all the smiles Sans had flashed Frisk’s way, this one appeared the more genuine.

“And we have a human that can take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now these two have a plan. Frisk can use the determination left over from Alphys's experiments to reset this timeline and ultimately fix things.
> 
> So then why was the cyan soul warning against it?
> 
> Thanks for reading guys!


	11. Travelling Via a Blaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair travel on a gasterblaster to Hotland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans's perspective this time! I thought that he was due to have a chapter so, here it is.
> 
> Also, editing is lacklustre, so I apologise for any mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy, guys.

Hope was a strange thing to Sans.

In a world like the Underground – where monster dust and snowflakes danced as they descended to the ground, where the silence was a physical entity that breathed down Sans’s spinal column and where the air had tasted the screams of his friends – hope was practically non-existent. To hope was as useless as those countless nights Sans had endured, holding the red scarf in his hands and willing his brother to form. To hope, Sans thought, was to be foolish.

But that was before the human had brought to him their idea. Their idea of using the leftover determination from Alphys’s experiments on monsters to reset this timeline. To make everything right again.

Sans could not help the smile that crossed his face.

The human grinned, their hands fidgeting with nervous energy. Their ratty, blue-and-pink-striped sweater was covered by a black winter jacket, the fluffy hood sitting awkwardly on their shoulders. They had found a pair of winter boots that served better in the snow than their sneakers.

The image of this human walking in Hotland in this winter gear came to mind, and his smile dripped from his face like the liquid out of his eye.

“ok, but i'm comin’ with you,” Sans said. “i'm not letting you out of my sight; not after what happened in the ruins.”

The human nodded, apparently understanding. Despite Sans’s declaration, the eagerness in their brown eyes did not falter, neither did their smile. Sans felt mild irritation at their lack of disappointment to him going, and the lines around his scowl deepened.

“We’ll have to walk through Waterfall, and maybe stop somewhere for the night,” the human said, their eyes flicking upwards to the ceiling of the Underground. The light of morning had faded, the clouds holding a darker colour. Blackness prickled at the edges; a constant warning of the darkness soon to sweep over the Underground. Despite it, Sans knew that it was – what he presumed to be – around midday.

The skeleton, however, had felt his spine straighten at the mention of Waterfall. He had not gone through the wet, swampy landscape for a long time. The last time he had gone, it was in pursuit of the human in the green sweater – his pink slippers trailing after the dust-covered shoes before him. The waters of Waterfall were sprinkled with monster dust, with more white powder sinking into the soft earth and the sounds of screams echoing around the blue caverns. Needless to say, the thought of Waterfall nearly made his bones rattle.

“no,” Sans proclaimed, his voice low and forced. “we’re not going through waterfall. i know a different way.”

Sans turned and started walking back towards Snowdin, not bothering to look over his shoulder to check if the human was following. Their loud footfalls on the soft snow and their exasperated breathing told him enough. The edges of his smile quirked upwards in satisfaction of annoying them.

He led them through the forest, through Papyrus’s old puzzles. They were broken now, or stuck in fixed positions; ice covering them like a spider’s web. His brother would throw a fit if he saw them this way, since he checked all his puzzles routinely every day and smothered them with utmost affection. Papyrus would possibly attempt to fix them, but then run and full sprint to Hotland for Alphys to invent something to help mend the puzzles.

Sans frowned and clenched his fists in his hoodie pocket.

 _that’s enough thinking about papyrus_.

The human was silent, but that suited Sans fine. He didn’t particularly like talking to them. Whenever they spoke, Sans was reminded of the human that had killed every monster, despite the two sounding nothing alike. The murderous human’s voice was childlike and slightly singsong, the words at the end of their sentences going up in a faint lilt. Demented glee and excitement reflected in every syllable they spoke. But this human’s voice was softer, their voice exuding a peculiar type of calmness. It wasn’t like the voice of the human that had sliced his brother’s skull off his shoulders.

A large drop of his magic slid from his left eye, languidly trailing down his face. His magical eye burned in his socket, his vision blurring and smudging. Letting out a grunt of frustration, he rubbed his socket with his hand and increased his pace.

_no thinking about that human, too._

Another reason why Sans hated this new human: they caused him to think about bad memories.

The pair quickly made it to Snowdin, and Sans led them through the ruins of the town. He remembered when it used to be lively, with bright, twinkling lights blinking from the town sign, the smell of grilled burgers wafting in the air and the incessant chatters of conversations piquing curiosity. Now, it was an empty shell of what it once was, the hollow, charred buildings mere mockeries of its old self. No matter how many times Sans summoned his blasters to strike the houses and buildings, it did not help.

Sans stopped at a ledge deep in Snowdin, the frigid water lapping at the snowy bank. The human slowed to a stop behind him and voiced his thoughts.

“The river-person’s boat used to be here,” they murmured, the snow shifting as they adjusted their footing.

Sans turned slightly so he could see them. Their short brown hair was swept; the fine strands being tugged at by the wind. Snow had begun to fall from the dark grey clouds, the white specks descending slowly. Snowflakes dusted their hair, just as they peppered Sans’s skull. They both paid no mind to it.

“yes. but you can guess what happened to them, can’t you?” Sans affirmed, raising a brow bone in their direction. Their tanned complexion paled, and the skeleton chuckled darkly in response.

Sans turned back to the water and splayed his left hand towards the ground. His cyan and yellow eye glowed brighter as magic pooled around his phalanges, cerulean twisting around his hand. Extending his hand, a gasterblaster formed out of his magic, the giant skeletal creature hovering over the water. The human let out a squeal at the sight.

The skeleton let his magic fade, feeling it thrash and strain against his hold. Every use of his magic was risky, as it ceaselessly sought to be fully unleashed every time. Sans knew that if he let it, he would become supernova and the Underground would possibly be nothing but a grease-spot. Sans didn’t want to die yet. He had to bring that murderous human to justice first.

Sans looked at the human, who was standing further away than they had been previously. Their brown eyes were fixed on the gasterblaster, wincing at every snort and whir it made. The skeleton grinned at their fear, calmly striding over to the gasterblaster and patting its elongated snout. This gasterblaster was one of his larger ones, being almost the size of the boat that used to cut through these very waters. Its dropping eyes raised to look at Sans, and its whirring softened so it was akin to a purr.

The gasterblasters were sentient, in a way. They had fleeting thoughts and emotions, but they were very basic and rather lacklustre. They served as a form of weapon more than a conscious being. But they seemed in tune with Sans’s emotional and mental state, which was just, as it was pure magic. His gasterblasters used to be as pale as alabaster, the white bone stark and menacing. Now, the white bone was partially covered in cyan and yellow stains, its eye sockets leaking the same mixture Sans’s did.

The gasterblaster’s jaw creaked, and the human jumped back. Sans’s smile widened.

“what’s wrong? you don’t like my gasterblaster, huh?” Sans asked, tilting his skull to the side and his voice cheerful. He knew that the last time they had seen one of his blasters was when he was attacking them, so Sans figured that it would be a sore memory for them.

The human teared their eyes away from his gasterblaster and looked at Sans. They bit their bottom lip. “I – well, um – I just . . .” Sans couldn’t help but to feel smug as they stuttered. “I . . . why did you summon it?”

Sans’s magical eye fell on their hand, which had crept up to grasp the cyan ribbon in their hair, as if for comfort. A peculiar feeling travelled down Sans’s spine, and his smile immediately dropped. The sight of the ribbon made his bones ache, so he fixed his gaze on the human instead.

“well, we aren’t gonna swim to hotland, are we?” His voice was flatter than before. “so, we’re going to take my gasterblaster down to hotland instead.” Sans ran his phalanges along the skull of the blaster, feeling it thrum against his touch. The uneasy feeling caused by the ribbon tugged at his mind, but the feel of his magic against his fingers aided him in soothing it. His magic was his comfort, yet it could be his downfall.

The human retracted their hand from the ribbon and stared at Sans in shock. “We’re going to ride that thing?” they said, their voice incredulous. They gripped the straps of their backpack and shivered.

Sans felt a stab of irritation. “yes, we are.” Sans fixed them with a deadly stare, streams of magic sliding down his cheek. His tone was gravelly, holding a dangerous edge that caused their back to immediately straighten in fear. “and unless you want me to use it on you, i suggest you climb on.”

The human jerked forward, their steps hesitant but forced. Sans stepped back, fixing the human a glare as they carefully clambered onto the gasterblaster, cringing as though its touch was burning them. They adjusted their position so they were sitting, their hands awkwardly fidgeting on their lap as they looked down at the giant skull, unable to sit still. The gasterblaster paid them no mind, its teeth chirring and chattering monotonously like a drill. The sight of them being so uncomfortable lightened Sans’s mood, and he nearly laughed. He settled for an arrogant smirk.

The skeleton confidently climbed on the blaster, sitting at the front, closest to its giant maw. He turned to the human, his grin wide as he noticed their blatant shuddering.

“try not to fall off. it can go quite fast,” Sans said. The human gulped and extended their hands, their fingers tightly wrapping around the skull. Their fingers turned white from the force of their grip, yet shook like the unstable foundations of a house.

He had often used his gasterblasters as transportation devices back when the monsters were still around, albeit only inside his house. Sans would summon a blaster and zoom around the house whilst Papyrus screamed at him to stop being so lazy and walk on his own two legs. Sans never demonstrated his gasterblasters outside, however.

Sans shifted into a more comfortable position and set his magic flowing to his fingers again. The gasterblaster hummed louder, its teeth chattering as it processed Sans’s unspoken orders. The human winced and gripped the skull tighter, bracing themselves for a sudden burst of speed.

The gasterblaster suddenly jerked into motion, the giant skull moving forward along the course of the river. It travelled at the speed of a fast walk, quickly proceeding along the water without touching the lapping liquid. Sans let his magic fade into wisps around his hand and looked over his shoulder to look at the human, who appeared bewildered. Their eyes flicked around their surroundings, glancing at the walls, the water and the skull beneath them. After looking at Sans, their grip lessened, and they let out a deep breath.

“I thought it would go faster,” the human said, relief exuding from their tone.

“do you want it to?” Sans raised a brow bone.

The human paled and shrunk further into their coat. “No, thank you.”

The skeleton chuckled, turning back around to focus on their course.

The landscape of Snowdin soon faded behind them, the falling snow dissipating along with the absence of the dark grey clouds. The ice cubes in the water melted as they drew closer to Waterfall, the blue landscape visible in the distance.

There must have also been an increase in temperature, as the human shed their winter coat and packed it away in their backpack. Sans had a very high tolerance to temperature, being a skeleton. The cold of Snowdin barely bothered him; the snow falling practically non-existent. He and his brother could go from Snowdin, to Waterfall, to Hotland without any trouble, much to Undyne’s annoyance. The fish monster was their complete opposite, being very vulnerable to changes in temperature.

“Would you like a cinnamon bunny?” The human asked, pulling Sans out of his thoughts. He turned to see the human with their bag on their lap, their hand holding a cinnamon bunny that was extended towards him.

Sans glanced at the food item before shaking his skull. “no.” Sans turned back around, before they could comment.

The skeleton’s appetite was a small, practically extinct. He rarely ate, and, when he did, he did not rely on a human to provide him with food. Despite the human’s apparent good intentions, Sans would never agree to take food from them. He would rather starve. His appetite used to be an insatiable thing, originally gorging on ketchup in disgustingly large quantities. Physical relief like eating and sleeping were the only things that could drown out his nightmares, so he soon became addicted, much to Papyrus’s chagrin.

His ketchup supply had run out long ago. He can’t sleep. Sans lost two of his coping methods.

Dark blue caverns soon opened their narrow maws to them, the river trailing into Waterfall. The atmosphere was dark; darkness enveloping them as the gasterblaster followed the course of the river. The sound of rushing water from a nearby waterfall reverberated through the walls, reminding Sans of drumbeats. It would have been calming, if not for the continuous, faint screams of agony and terror that echoed within. The cries droned into Sans’s skull, piercing into his bones like the beam of one of his blasters. He pulled his hood over his head in an attempt to muffle the sound. Not even the hum of the gasterblaster could drown it.

The human looked likewise disturbed. When Sans looked over his shoulder, he saw the expression of pure horror on their face, their hands clenching the blaster with an iron grip. Their brown eyes were cast downwards and their shoulders were hunched, as though they could feel the screams breathing down their neck. Even in the darkness of Waterfall, Sans could see their shaking form clear as day.

 _now you see what i have to live with,_ Sans thought bitterly, looking back ahead with a scowl. _except they scream in my head, and they are much louder than this._

They had life handed to them on a silver platter, in their timeline. They saved the monsters, and they lived in perfect harmony with them and the humans on the surface. Meanwhile, because of them, Sans was living in hell. All monsters except him were gone, and he could not sleep without them crying accusations in his dreams. _Why didn’t you save us?_ they would scream, their bleeding, half-dusted forms jerking towards him. _Why did you let us die?_

But, worst of all, was the recurring dream about his brother. His brother, who would just look at Sans with empty eye sockets and say: _YOU HAVE FAILED ME, BROTHER_ _._

This human knew _nothing_ about suffering. While they were skipping amongst the flowers on the surface, Sans was struggling to pull himself from nightmares.

Sans didn’t sleep much anymore.

Sans looked up at the ceiling of the Underground. Darkness had smothered them, adding to the present gloom of Waterfall. The glowing stones winked feebly among the dark swirls of clouds; a mockery of stars on the surface. The skeleton harrumphed, using his magic to slow the speed of the gasterblaster.

“must be past sundown,” Sans said, turning to face the human. They had their hood up, as if they were attempting to block out the screams of the monsters just as Sans had. “so, it’s time for you to sleep.”

The human glanced down at the gasterblaster, which was moving closer to a slow walk than its pervious pace. “I could fall,” they said, letting go of the blaster with one hand.

Sans grinned. “that would be just fine.”

They frowned at him, but it just made him smile wider. Sans let out a sigh and let his magic pool around his hand. He directed it to the human’s chest, where his magic firmly wrapped around the human’s red soul and pulled it out into the open. They let out a startle cry as he turned their soul blue, setting them crashing so they pressed against the gasterblaster.

“i'll keep your soul blue so you don’t fall,” Sans explained. “enough increased gravity to keep you down, but not enough to prohibit changes in sleeping position and whatnot. because you’re not falling off, otherwise you can’t reset.”

The human swallowed hard and managed a stiff nod. Despite his claim of it not being entirely restricting, he made sure to make it slightly painful. “Thank you,” the human murmured. They curled up into a ball, their legs tucked against their chest, and pulled their hood over their head. They closed their eyes in an attempt to sleep.

Sans adjusted his position so he faced them, in order to keep watch if they were to try something. The gasterblaster would stay on course; it was predictable. The human was not.

The human was a strange one. Sans watched them from a distance occasionally, checking up on them once in a while to make sure they were behaving. They did a range of activities, such as wandering, finding food, looking for resources . . . But Sans found that they, most of the time, sat or walked with a piece of paper, scribbling down ways of helping this timeline and . . . Sans.

Even though the skeleton did not treat them with much kindness, the human still wished to save him. Confusing was a word that definitely defined them.

Sans had spent many nights standing outside the tool shed where they were held, his one glowing eye boring into the wooden structure. He had tried to figure out their game, tried to figure out what their deal was. The skeleton thought of many scenarios – they were acting all sugary-sweet but was planning to kill him, for example – but the human was just so . . . _genuine._ Sans could read through them like a book. Nothing they did, from offering him food or asking how his day went ( _horrible_ , he always said), felt as though it held evil intentions. Even though this timeline was their fault, they were trying their hardest to fix it.

Sans still didn’t trust them though. They had caused this timeline to happen, after all. They might be trying to fix it, but they wouldn’t even be having to if they didn’t reset. It was still _their fault_.

But, this idea of them using the left-over determination to fix this timeline was one that Sans could fully agree that it would work.

Sans knew that humans could withstand incredible amounts of determination, far more than any monster could. The amalgamates had simply melted under a small amount of determination, but a human wouldn’t even flinch. Being injected with the determination left in the True Lab would not kill the human, but would likely make them very powerful. Threateningly so.

Sans was a powerful monster. Out of every monster in the Underground, he was most likely the strongest. He had control over his magic like no one else did. He could manipulate his bones into complicated figures and arrangements to leave his adversary exhausted where he wouldn’t even break a sweat. Not to mention his KARMA and gasterblasters. He could have probably taken down Asgore if he could have been bothered.

But after the incident with the human in the green-and-yellow-striped sweater . . . his control had waned dramatically. His failing control over his magic had decreased to the point that he was overflowing, his eye socket leaking his very magic. Every alteration in his mood caused his magic to thrash, feeling as though his ribs were slowly turning to liquid. His ability to teleport disappeared, and insomnia dug its needle teeth into his skull. But he was still strong . . . if not stronger than he had been before.

So, if this human challenged his authority after absorbing all determination found in the True Lab, Sans would not hesitate to dunk them with the full power he possessed. No amount of determination could trump him. They would be receiving a bad time regardless.

Sans pouted, running his fingers along the grooves of the gasterblaster. The human shifted, and the skeleton looked up, glimpsing the cyan ribbon tied in their hair. The feeling crawled up Sans’s spinal column again, and he involuntarily shuddered.

When he had noticed that the human was not in Snowdin the day before, anger had quickly taken him. Sans could always find the human, as their soul radiated enough determination to reach Sans even when he was far away. But when he had found them in the Ruins with two ghostly, human apparitions, he had been shocked. They had paid no attention to him, instead locking hands and turning into the cyan ribbon.

Sans had been surprised. Not only did this human find another person in the Underground, but they had to go and find two more? How could they find them so easily, when Sans had been wandering the Underground for what felt like an eternity looking for others? They had claimed that they had responded to the human’s determination, which only cemented Sans’s distrust for them. Only bad things could come from determination. The human killing everyone. The resets. All caused by determination.

Yet the cyan human was what perturbed Sans the most. He could not see the red human that well, but could see the cyan human clearly. As Sans spotted the cyan human, he could not tear his eye sockets away. There was something about that human that seemed off. It was almost like it felt . . . familiar?

Sans frowned and picked at his metacarpals. The cyan human radiated a part of _his_ magic. The magic of patience. That was why he felt this way. The cyan ribbon tied to the human’s hair was the exact colour of his eye and magic, minus the yellow. The ribbon glowed _his_ magic in this darkness, yet it was tied to the _human_. It was helping them, not him.

Even from a couple of metres away from the human, he could feel its calming influence. Despite his contempt towards the object, he could not help to be faintly soothed by it.

“Sans?”

The skeleton’s eye quickly fell to the human, who was staring at Sans. He frowned.

“what do you want?”

“How do you know about the sun?”

Sans’s expression was stony as he turned around, his back to the human and their questions and the stupid ribbon. “go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's some stuff I want to talk about.
> 
> This fanfiction may not update in a while. 
> 
> This is wholly caused by my school exams, which start from Thursday the 10th of November all the way to the 23rd. Naturally, studying for my exams is a higher priority than this story. However, I will try to update, but don't hold me to that. I will be studying for those three weeks rather than working on the chapters of this story, most likely.
> 
> But, this is, in a way, good news. As my exams finish, I will have more time to write chapters, meaning that I will be able to update more often. Which is good, I think, as this story is finally becoming interesting. 
> 
> So, yes. Exams and stuff. The first one I have is on the 10th and its for English. I have to write two essays and a series of responses to poems in three hours.
> 
> I'm going to die.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	12. The True Laboratory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Frisk travel to the True Lab, only to engage in a battle with an old foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! I did it guys! I wrote this entire chapter in a day!
> 
> Also, I just want to apologise for not updating sooner. We had an earthquake here, and I had my exams, so I couldn't write this chapter as soon as I would have liked. And I'm sorry for that. This chapter is being posted almost more than two weeks after the previous, and that isn't acceptable. 
> 
> I hope to return to weekly updates, now that my exams are pretty much done. I'll have more time writing, so I'll be able to get chapters to you guys sooner. 
> 
> But, in the meantime, enjoy this barely-edited chapter.

Frisk woke to sweltering heat. Their sweater was stuck to their back, and their hair felt lank and sticky. Their forehead was streaked with sweat and their throat was sore. Orange glared at them from outside their closed eyelids.

As they opened their eyes, the image of the deep blue walls swam to view, orange light splashing on the sapphire. The human turned their head, the soft blue glow of their soul casting faint shadows on their face. They were still on the – what had Sans called it? – _gasterblaster_ , which was humming softly as it travelled along the river. Their brown eyes spotted Sans immediately, who was sitting with his legs crossed, his body faced towards them. His glowing eye leaked at a slow rate, a singular drop sliding down his cheekbone. He seemed to be staring into the distance, his smile small and his expression reflecting one of calmness. Frisk had never seen him hold that expression before.

But then his eye flicked towards Frisk, and the moment of serenity passed. A smile spread across his face at the sight of their wakefulness.

“you’re finally up, huh?” Sans observed, propping his elbow against his knee. “good. i was wonderin’ if i was gonna have to kick you awake.”

Sans’s left hand swirled with blue, and the azure smothering Frisk’s soul leeched away, restoring it to its natural crimson. The gravity pressing down on the human disappeared. Frisk took a deep breath as it sunk back into their chest, the warmth from their determination spreading throughout their limbs.

“We’re nearing Hotland?” Frisk asked, pulling themselves up into a sitting position. They adjusted the ribbon, tying it more securely around a lock of hair. It thrummed softly against their fingers, patience alighting their nerves. The human could still feel the patient soul discouraging their plan to use determination, tingles travelling down their spine in response. It felt as though the cyan human was warning them against it . . . as though, something would go wrong? Or they were in danger?

Frisk bit their bottom lip, releasing the ribbon from their fingertips. This plan was going to work; it had to. They were going to make sure of that.

“obviously.” Frisk pretended not to see Sans’s fleeting glance at the cyan ribbon in their hair, a flash of wistfulness passing on his face. The human looked away from his gaze, absentmindedly playing with the straps of their backpack.

From the corner of their eye, they saw the skeleton turn away, focusing his attention on their course.

As the gasterblaster drew them closer to Hotland, the light grew brighter; orange specks dancing on the crests of the water. The heat increased, and Frisk found themselves fishing through their backpack to take long droughts from their drink bottle.

The gasterblaster drew to a stop, gyrating louder and partially drowning out the sounds of the distant air vents further in Hotland. Sans slid off the side, his pink slippers landing on the shore. He turned to the human, his brow bones raised.

Despite the heat in the atmosphere of Hotland, he looked unperturbed. The glisten of sweat – again, Frisk had no idea how he could actually sweat without any pores – that often graced his skull was absent. He showed no discomfort in wearing a large, fur-lined hoodie. It was as though the heat did not strike him.

“you getting off? or am i going to have to knock you off it?” Sans grinned.

The human quickly leapt off the gasterblaster, landing at Sans’s side. The very soil sent heat travelling through their shoes. They quickly returned the drink bottle to their backpack, hoping that the bag would keep the water from evaporating.

Sans raised a brow bone, but said nothing. He raised his left hand – suddenly sheathed in blue – and slashed it to the side in a quick, cerulean wave. The giant, skeletal gasterblaster dissolved into cyan, yellow and white particles, which soon dissipated as though blown away by an imaginary wind. The skeleton started walking towards Hotland, his hands returning to his hoodie’s pockets.

“c’mon, then,” Sans said, peering over his shoulder, “we don’t have all day, y’know. we're only a couple of hours past sunrise. let's not waste any more time.”

Frisk nodded, following his footsteps.

They were reminded of the question they asked him before sleep ensnared them – about how he knew about the sun. There is no sun in the Underground, only glinting stones on the ceiling of the great cavern. How Sans knew about the sun, including the concepts of sunrise and sunset, was a mystery. In fact, even their Sans knew about the sun – _we call that ‘the sun’, my friend_ , Sans had said to Papyrus when they first made it up on the surface. However, this skeleton had dismissed their question, however, and Frisk had the feeling that he would do so again if they asked a second time.

The two soon stood in front of the Hotland laboratory, the great, white building towering over them. The lab’s paint was peeling and cracked, the metal, sliding doors partially opened, jammed by a long slab of wood.

Frisk frowned, their brown eyes narrowing. The building itself appeared stable and robust, with no indication of any broken supports or caved-in rooves. The wood keeping the metal doors open was out-of-place. It was as if someone had wedged the plank between the doors, as though they had pried it open after it denied them access.

Stranger yet, was the splash of red that tainted the wood, looking suspiciously like blood.

The ribbon sent another jolt of warning down Frisk’s back.

“Sans,” the human whispered, their eyes focused on the wood, “when was the last time anyone has come through here?”

The skeleton’s eye sockets blinked once. His single eye was pinned on the metal doors too, his smile tapered downwards. He had gone still, his bones as concrete and as unmoving as a statue.

“so, does that mean you’re asking me if this is a familiar sight?” Sans muttered, gesturing to the bloodied wood with a jerk of his skull. The skeleton sighed and shook his head. “no. the last time i was in hotland . . . that wasn’t there. so, either a part of the laboratory has been broken inside or—”

“—or someone else has been through here?” Frisk continued, their voice quiet.

“exactly.”

Frisk let out an audible gulp. This plan no longer seemed like a good idea. Something about the blood on the wood sent the human’s skin into a crawl. Monsters didn’t bleed. Whoever touched that wood was definitely not a monster, but a human. The only recent human that has been through the Underground prior to Frisk was the one that attempted mass genocide.

The cyan ribbon was sending more warning signals; a constant tug at the edges of their mind. The patient soul urged them to turn around, to go back to Snowdin. To wait for another fallen human to call out for help.

“Sans,” Frisk murmured, gripping onto the straps of their backpack so hard that their knuckles turned white, “should we go back to Snowdin?”

The skeleton tilted his head to the human, his frown morphing into a grin. “heh heh heh. you're tellin’ me, that the supposed ‘saviour of monsterkind’ –” he made air quotations with his phalanges – “and the mighty ‘breaker of the barrier’, is afraid of a piece of wood?”

Frisk felt their cheeks flush with colour that had nothing to do with the heat. “N-no, it’s just, well, you said it yourself! That piece of wood holding the door open wasn’t there before!” Their voice sounded slightly shrill. “Besides, it has blood on it! Monsters don’t bleed, Sans.”

Sans chuckled in amusement and started walking towards the metal door. With a wave of his hand, a gasterblaster formed behind his shoulder, the great skeletal jaws whirring like an incessant drill. Frisk – suddenly realising what Sans was doing – retreated a few paces as the skull parted its rows of teeth and blasted forth a torrent of cyan and yellow. The metal door melted under the impact, the piece of wood charring and rendered to ash.

The skeleton made the gasterblaster disappear, and looked over his shoulder at Frisk.

“yeah, that piece of wood wasn’t there before. yes, it also had blood on it.” His grin then twisted into a grimace, the lines under his dark sockets deepening. The shadows cast by the inside of the laboratory pulled and ghosted his skull, painting him in a sinister visage.

“but that other human is gone,” Sans said darkly, his voice dangerously quiet. “they went to the surface. they left this place. whatever relic left in this old ruin of a building a merely a _ghost_. a memory – a reminder. nothing haunts this building except the fears you take with you inside it.”

Frisk swallowed hard, but nodded in response. They made themselves loosen their grip on their backpack’s straps.

Sans was right. There was nothing in this laboratory that could hurt them. But then why did they still feel so uneasy? They had proven that there were still creatures in the Underground, such as the person in their dreams and the fallen humans. So, couldn’t that still apply with the lab? Is something in the laboratory; is that why the cyan ribbon is sending Frisk warning signals?

Sans muttered something incoherent and began walking inside the building. “hurry up, then.”

Frisk hurried to catch up to him, letting the darkness of the laboratory consume them.

The inside was dark, Sans’s glowing eye and the cyan ribbon being the only sources of light. Frisk reached for the light switch on the wall and flicked it, but the laboratory failed to fill with additional light. Frowning, Frisk slung off their backpack and pulled out their lantern. As their fingertips brushed it, blue light immediately sprung from it, the faint glow pushing weakly at the darkness.

With the aid of the lantern, Frisk could discern the objects in the laboratory, their forms – previously drenched in liquid darkness – now splashed with soft blue. The large monitor to the side was switched off, the screen void of colour. The desk which once held Alphys’s numerous papers and anime figurines was bare, the computer system in pieces underneath and the numerous papers strewn across the floor. The escalator that went up to Alphys’s room was still, and the soft hum of the lab was silent. Quietness hung over the laboratory like a dense fog.

Sans laughed when he spotted Frisk shiver. “oh, yes, how spooky,” the skeleton taunted, sarcasm dripping in his tone. His skull looked eerie in the darkness; most of his face being wreathed in blue, whilst blackness dragged at the edges of his cranium. The wavering blue light of Frisk’s lantern made his face dance with blue, like flickering flames. His eye pulsed softly in his socket, the cyan and yellow liquid trickling down his face in obvious lethargy. “an empty laboratory – how frightening.”

Frisk pouted at the skeleton, letting out a small huff. “Yes. I suppose that I’m _chilled to the bone_.” The human grinned at Sans mischievously.

The lines around Sans’s mouth deepened, his gaze hardening. “don’t look so proud of yourself,” he retorted tonelessly, giving them a blank stare. He set off towards the elevator door, which was cleverly hidden behind the guise of being the entrance to the bathroom. The human trotted after him, their smile proving ever-prominent on their face.

“What? You didn’t find that joke . . . _humerus_?” Frisk continued, grinning happily as they executed another pun.

Sans just ignored them, opening the elevator door and shouldering himself in, as though he was trying to get away from them and their puns as much as possible. The skeleton glared at the ground as Frisk entered the elevator, moving to stand at his side, their lantern’s light shaky and feeble. Sans – almost as soon as they stepped inside – punched the button, and the elevator suddenly shot downwards towards the True Laboratory.

Despite Sans’s stony and cold disposition towards Frisk, it was better than it had been when they had fallen a while ago. Originally, he had put up a hard front, hardly speaking to them unless it was some form of threat or order. But, as it was at present, Sans’s mask had been pulled down slightly, rendering him more talkative and slightly more friendly. He had started replying to their questions, engaging in conversations (albeit brief) without a dangerous edge to his voice. The human supposed that the skeleton was slowly becoming to trust them, or at least become comfortable with their presence. That thought made Frisk smile, their hand reaching upwards to grasp the cyan ribbon.

_I have been patient with Sans_ , Frisk thought, their gaze quickly flicking over to look at the skeleton. He was still staring at the ground, his spine ramrod straight. _I have been patient and he is becoming friendlier. Maybe, with some more progress, we could become friends._

The ribbon vibrated more intensely against their touch. Frisk felt their smile drop again.

The patient soul was still warning them about something. Cold fingers seemed to trail down their spine with every passing second, becoming stronger, more urgent, as they continued. Frisk felt – from the very bottom of their soul – that this plan of using the determination was going to fail in one way, but they didn’t know specifically how.

The elevator shuddered to a stop, pulling Frisk’s mind back to reality. The metal doors quaked open, the shuttered jerking aside to glean them entry to the True Laboratory.

Frisk hefted the blue lantern, the blue light alighting the familiar green, grimy walls. The air was heavy and damp, the dense particles seemingly turning Frisk’s lungs to lead. Their previous warmth caused by Hotland was being quickly eaten away by the atmosphere, cold needle teeth tearing into their skin and causing goose-bumps to erupt.

The human sucked in a lungful of air, but immediately felt sickened. The ribbon was sending out strong warning signals, causing their nerves to tingle and their body to shake. They felt nervous, jittery, as if something was ahead that would be disastrous for both Sans and themselves. Their lantern’s light became feebler; a mere candlelight in the oppressive darkness of the laboratory. The True Lab just felt . . . wrong. Something was further in, something dangerous.

No doubt about it, the two had to leave right now.

Frisk opened their mouth, forcing words to tear from their throat. “Sans—”

“wait.” Sans stuck out a hand to silence them. His eye sockets were narrowed as his single eye peered into the darkness of the laboratory.

A red light flared deeper in the laboratory, so quickly that Frisk nearly missed it. It was like a fleeting burst of a roman candle; a sudden flash of crimson. The sight caused a peculiar ice-like sensation to freeze Frisk’s bones – fear. That brief flash of red was wrong. The entire laboratory felt wrong. They had to leave.

“S-sans,” the human whispered, their legs shaking, “we h-have to go. There’s s-something not right h-here.”

Sans’s sockets narrowed further as he studied them, suspicion causing his brow bones to crease.

“coming here was your idea,” the skeleton muttered, a drop of yellow and cyan streaking down his cheekbone. He looked away, his smile thin as he stared into the darkness of the True Laboratory. “i've lost too much to back out now.”

“I-I know that. But, please, we must leave! There’s something not right about this place.”

“no.” Sans turned to them, anger playing on his features like the shadows that danced on his skull. “we’re not leaving now; not when we’re so close. we're gonna find those last samples of determination and you’re going to use it to fix everything. the underground will be exactly the way it was before – before that human, and before _you_.”

Frisk shook their head quickly. They splayed their hands in an attempt to placate him. “Please—”

Sans’s right hand suddenly reached out and snatched Frisk’s wrist, his phalanges wrapping themselves around tightly. His bony fingers dug into their skin, causing them to cry out. The skeleton yanked them close to him and glared down at them, his eye glowing brighter and boring into their own brown eyes.

“w e  a r e  n o t  l e a v i n g,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous and his smile wide and terrifying. Frisk’s heart sped up in their chest, their soul quivering madly. The skeleton fixed his gaze towards the depths of the lab when another burst of red flashed into existence. His smile dropped to a confused frown, curiosity prickling in his one eye. “let’s find out what all that red flashing is, shall we?”

Sans starting walking deeper into the laboratory, pulling Frisk along with him. The human blurted out a series of pleas as they walked, trying to get him to turn around. He continued walking, not bothering to grace them with a reply. Frisk’s fingers became numb due to his strong grip, their nerveless fingers releasing their hold on the lantern, causing its light to sputter as it fell to the floor with a sharp clank. Darkness swallowed them, the only sources of light being Sans’s glowing eye, the cyan ribbon’s light long since faded.

As they travelled further into the True Laboratory, the air felt more hostile, the very atmosphere suffocating. The skeleton dragged them through rooms, their footsteps stirring up oceans of dust. The sickly feeling that coiled in Frisk’s stomach grew stronger as they continued, threatening to turn their legs to jelly. The bursts of red grew brighter, emanating from what Frisk remembered to be the refrigerator room.

Before Frisk could protest, Sans lead them inside, the bright red flashes washing the two in scarlet light. There was an absence of fog in the room, and – despite the darkness of the remainder of the rooms in the True Laboratory – was lighter. A row of refrigerators were toppled to their sides, the doors torn open from their hinges. Vials and test tubes littered the floor in fragments, red residue faintly glowing from the broken glass. Yet, more alarming, was the figure hunched by the wall.

Sans froze, his grip tightening on Frisk’s wrist as they both stared at the person. They reminded Frisk of the amalgamates. They appeared to be a dripping red mass, vaguely in the form of a small human child. Their body entirely consisted of a viscous, crimson substance that dripped from their frame, splashing the ground before them. Their head was bent, a red, soaking curtain of hair framing their face. A dripping arm was splayed, whilst their opposite hand held a syringe that held a red liquid. As the red liquid was injected further into their body, they would flash a bright crimson, their body becoming more viscous and gelatinous.

_Determination_ , Frisk thought, shock striking their body. _They’re injecting themselves with determination._

_“_ wha—who the hell are you?” Sans proclaimed, breaking the silence _._

The figure’s head jerked upwards, their dripping mockery of hair parting. Instead of eyes, there were two black pits. A smile curved along their humanoid face, the edges stretching wide.

“Sans . . .” The figure whispered, their voice hoarse and raspy. It was as though they had not used it in a long time. Nevertheless, their voice caused Frisk to shudder to a stop. That voice . . . they had heard it before. It sent chills down their spine.

Sans frowned, his skull tilting downwards. His smile had become a thin line, almost akin to a bared snarl. His eye flashed brighter, and his left hand was suddenly sheathed in blue. His fingers of his right hand did not release Frisk’s wrist.

“this is the last time i'm askin’,” Sans said, his voice flat. “w h o  t h e  h e l l  a r e  y o u?”

The creature chuckled, rising to their feet in one, jerky motion, like a puppet controlled by strings. Even though they appeared to be made of a thick liquid, they appeared to have some solidarity. Those two black eyes were trained intensely on the skeleton’s face, their smile twisting tighter.

“What’s the matter, Sans? You don’t remember me?” Their voice was clearer, yet still much like a snake’s hiss. It sounded almost childlike; singsong. Their voice went up in a slightly lilt at the end of their sentences.

The figure smiled as the goo that made up their body receded, causing the person’s features to become more solid. The red mixture thickened to form a small human child with pale skin. They wore a green-and-yellowed-striped sweater, along with a pair of brown shorts and shoes. Their auburn hair was short. Their eyes gleamed red as their smile widened at the two of them.  
Frisk’s eyes widened, realisation causing them to take a singular step back, restricted by Sans’s tight hold.

_Chara._

Sans appeared to recognise who the human was at the same moment as Frisk. His grip on their wrist tightened to the point of causing Frisk to cry out in pain. His eye flashed cyan and yellow in quick bursts, the gooey liquid from his left eye socket running fast, the globules caking his face and splattering his clothes as they descended. The air around him hummed dangerously, Frisk feeling as though the air particles were vibrating in tandem with his anger. His bones rattled underneath his hoodie. His smile was unflinching.

Frisk wrapped the numb fingers of their ensnared hand around the skeleton’s wrist. The radius and ulna through the sleeve of his hoodie pulsated from beneath their fingers, sending small prickles through their fingertips. The human weakly squeezed his wrist in an attempt to convince him to leave.

Sans ignored Frisk completely, baring his maniac grin to Chara.

“y o u,” Sans snarled, the blue around his left hand lashing wildly. Frisk felt adrenaline surge through their veins in response to his anger.

Chara giggled, giving Sans a wide smile. “Took you long enough!” they said happily, their child-like voice sickly-sweet and dripping with cheeriness.

Frisk frowned. The two were staring at each other, not at all taking a mind to Frisk. This Chara was not unlike the one Frisk had seen in the Ruins . . . yet they were not entirely the same. The one they had seen with the cyan human was semi-corporeal and glowed red, their voice emanating from Frisk’s very mind. This Chara was more solid, appearing exactly like a regular human child. Except they seemed more dangerous – more jarring. They made Frisk want to flee.

Chara walked a few paces, their cheeks rosy with mirth. A sticky red residue was left with each step. Drops of red were seeping from their ears, beads of it trickling past their spread lips. They were leaking determination. With all that determination, they must have been able to surpass Frisk’s, leaving them in total control of the timeline.

“Look at you!” Chara exclaimed. Their head was tilted to the side, a curious smile playing on their face as they studied the skeleton. Sans let out almost an animalistic _growl_ at their exclamation. They just giggled in response, their smile growing wider.

“You’re practically glowing with power, Sans!” Chara continued with glee. “Your eye – it’s leaking. Magic? Is it your magic that’s dripping from it? _Oh_ , it must be! You’re overflowing with power – with magical energy! But, naturally, some things have gone wrong.” Their red eyes raked his form, focusing on the splatters of cyan and yellow staining his clothes. “You’ve become oh-so unstable. Frankly, your mind is as shattered as a broken mirror, to say the least. I bet that you can’t sleep, can you? Not without reliving the memory of me slicing your brother’s head off his shoulders.”

Sans’s bones increased their rattling, his eye glowing brighter and the liquid running out of his socket at a fast pace. The air around him popped, arcs of blue pulsing from his frame. Still, he clenched Frisk’s wrist firmly. Frisk wrapped their fingers around his wrist and squeeze rhythmically in a weak effort to calm him down. It was all they could think of. They felt helpless.

“What was his name?” Chara continued, tapping their chin repeatedly with a finger. “’Potluck’? No . . . ‘Pompom’? No, that wasn’t it. How about ‘Paperboy’? Was it that?”

Sans’s smile was static as his eye leaked more liquid, the thick mixture flowing down his form. Frisk could understand Sans’s anger, however. Chara was the person who had murdered all he – all they – loved. Toriel, Asgore, Undyne, Alphys . . . Papyrus. They were all gone from this timeline because of them. Now Sans had a chance to reset it all with the help of Frisk, only to see that the murderer was – once again – standing in his way.

“Well, whatever his name is, you can avenge him now,” Chara said dismissively.

Chara's gaze suddenly flicked to Frisk, their grin broadening. Frisk’s eyes widened, and they subconsciously reached for the ribbon with their left hand, whilst their right gripped Sans’s wrist tighter. Chara didn’t notice.

“And you . . . hi!” Chara said to Frisk, their red eyes alighting with cheerfulness as they gave them a little, enthusiastic wave “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?” They raised their arms, obviously gesturing to the timeline. “I think it’s . . . _refreshing_. Terribly sorry to take away your perfect life up on the surface, but, well . . . _this is the better ending.”_

Shock struck Frisk like a lightning bolt. _Chara_ did this? _Chara_ was the one that reset their timeline to create this one? After all those weeks of inner torment and guilt, _Chara_ was the one who had done this? Frisk wasn’t the one who reset their perfect world. Their world where Papyrus owned a convertible and liked to drive with the roof down, feeling the wind on his skull. Their world where Toriel lived her dream of being a teacher, happily teaching students that were both human and monster. Their world where Undyne worked as a gym teacher and as a lifeguard. Their world where Alphys worked with human scientists and watched anime, often staying up all night with them. Their world where Asgore was a gardener, beaming whenever Frisk complimented his garden of bright, colourful flowers. Their world where Mettaton was a movie and television star and Napstablook was a well-respected music producer.

Frisk didn’t reset. _Chara_ did

Shock and anger played on Frisk’s face, and Chara laughed at their change in expression. “Whoops! Perhaps I should have warned you . . . But you didn’t really think that your perfect, _true_ _pacifist_ ending was going to last, did you?”

At the end of their sentence – just before Frisk could respond – a large bone shot towards them, narrowly missing Chara’s head as they ducked. The bone drove into the wall behind them with a loud thunk. They gave Sans a small smirk. The skeleton’s left hand was raised, his phalanges swathed in flickering blue. Above his splayed hand was a row of sharp bones, all pointed towards Chara. His smile had grown sour, the edges tapered downwards slightly. His eye was glowing brightly.

“ _Ooh_ , somebody’s mad!” Chara cooed, rising out of their duck.

They narrowed their eyes at Sans’s seething form and extended an arm to the side, their fingers spread towards the floor. The drips from their fingers solidified and formed a hovering knife, which they wrapped their fingers around. They smiled coolly. “But, you see, I need that human. There is a lot of determination in this laboratory . . . but not enough. I’ve absorbed a lot of determination – so much that I feel as though I’m melting – but it isn’t enough. No, I need more. That that parasitic pacifist human you’ve got snared there Sansy is the last remain source of determination.”

Sans gripped Frisk’s wrist tighter, pulling them closer to him. The skeleton then sent the row of bones at Chara, the stark white bones flying as though they had been released by a series of cannons.

Chara quickly raised their knife. The knife bled red droplets, the liquid leaking from the knife causing the knife to grow almost ten times the size. With one smooth slice, the giant knife cut through the offending volley of bones, sending the fragments to their feet with a clatter.

“ _Two_ _can_ _play_ _at_ _that_ _game_ ,” they whispered sweetly. They suddenly raised their knife and a row of red daggers appeared above them. The red knives arced towards Sans and Frisk with a downward sweep of Chara’s knife.

Sans let go of Frisk’s wrist and shoved them backwards. Their red soul tore out of their chest and turned blue, sending them crashing against the wall, out of the way. A barrier of femurs rose from the ground in front of him by his two glowing blue hands, shattering the red knives to pieces.

Chara laughed and lunged forward, faster than humanly possible. Sans sidestepped their lethal stab and swept his hand, materialising a few fibulas to smack them away. They were pushed back a few metres before they leapt at him again, their knife swinging wildly.

Frisk struggled against the blue of their soul, desperate to make some effort to help as Sans shot another volley of bones at Chara. The two were caught in a furious, angry dance: Chara would sweep at Sans with their knife, or send out a cascade of red knives, and Sans would dodge and attack them with his own weapons. But Frisk was pressed against the wall by an invisible wall, their bones yielding no movements.

Sans’s eye leaked a small waterfall, the liquid pouring from it wetting his front and splattering on the ground before him. Each droplet sizzled as it met the floor, steaming puddles being formed on the laboratory ground as the two fought. Likewise, red puddles grew from Chara’s own leaking body, liquid determination dribbling from their ears, nostrils, leering mouth and the corners of their eyes. The red fluid ran down their arms and legs from beneath their clothes. The two mixtures from the two creatures did not blend together. Cyan and yellow magic danced in the air along with Chara’s red, wisps of the two rising to the ceiling with each attack.

Sans knocked aside Chara’s arm to avoid their angry swipe and summoned a large bone in his other hand. With a strong swing, the humerus struck the human, sending them flying against the wall. As they hit the wall, a cage of bones rose from the floor, the white pillars keeping them immobilised. Sans grinned at Chara as they writhed within their prison, trying to free themselves from the constricting bones.

“this has been fun,” Sans said with a humourless laugh. Anger played in his oozing eye, his magic streaming down his face in a series of cyan and yellow rivers. He raised his left hand, swathed in cerulean. “but i have had enough of you.”

The air hummed as he spread his phalanges, the magic from them causing the air to hum. Frisk’s soul tugged, the blue twisting around their soul. Sans was going to turn Chara’s soul blue, then it would be all over. “y o u  d i r t y  b r o t h e r  k i l l e r.”

Everything went quiet as Frisk, Sans and Chara waited for the skeleton’s magic to perform.

Yet, nothing happened.

Sans’s brow bones furrowed as Chara burst into a cackling fit, their laughter reverberating around the room. The skeleton drew his hand back, the fingers curling towards his palm. His smile wavered slightly.

“What’s wrong, Sansy?” Chara crooned, giving the skeleton a taunting smile. “Confused?” The human giggled, shaking their head. “You can’t turn my soul blue if I _don't_ _have_ _a_ _soul_!"

Their laughter fell short as Sans turned the bones sharp, the edges slicing into their skin. They gave him a leer before their body melted into a large mass of red goo.

Sans scowled as the red puddle moved out of the cage of bones. It suddenly shot at him, forming into Chara halfway through its leap. Sans quickly leapt out of the way.

The fight continued, more frenzied and more frantic than before. Chara kept their distance while Sans fired bones at them, forcing them to dodge the bones in awkward angles. Their knives cut through those that got to close with a delighted laugh. Cyan bones were sent at Chara alongside normal ones, causing the human to leap out of the way in more trying positions, all whilst sneakily sending red daggers to arc towards him. Sans avoided them all.

Frisk continued trying to escape the blue of their soul, but it remained steadfast. They didn’t understand why this Chara didn’t have a soul. The red Chara they fought had a soul, didn’t it? They had part of a soul; a small fragment. Then that red Chara held hands with the cyan human and became the ribbon.

Frisk frowned. _Are_ _you_ _a_ _fragment_ _of_ _Chara’s_ _soul_? Frisk thought, directing the thought to the ribbon.

The cyan ribbon pulsed weakly in their hair in affirmative. Frisk took a sharp intake of breath. The ribbon wasn’t the cyan human’s soul, but rather a small portion of Chara’s; one that held the trait of patience. The piece of Chara’s soul embodying the ribbon warned them of coming to the True Laboratory – it knew about this Chara. This Chara didn’t have a soul . . . they were something else.

Sans sent another array of sharp tibias at Chara, who calmly swept their enlarged knife. The bones sliced into shards, descending to the floor before dematerialising into cyan wisps.

“You’ve certainly gotten stronger!” Chara commented, red sweat beading their brow. Sans looked unperturbed, as though fatigue did not plague him at all. Sans’s KR was causing the human to become tired, weakness sapping at their strength. “Your attacks are certainly stronger! Though I suspect your HP will be the same. Y’know, as there’s no one left to kill.”

With a swirl of cyan, a gasterblaster appeared in front of Sans, the large jaws whirring and vibrating like a drill. The teeth clacked together as its cyan and yellow eyes focused on Chara, a growl emanating from behind its closed rows of teeth. Chara gazed at it calmly, seemingly not intimidated by its angry snarls.

“Well, there’s still one person left that you can kill,” Chara corrected, shrugging their shoulders. Sans didn’t respond. They raised their eyebrows, mistaking Sans’s silence for confusion. “Oh? You don’t know what I mean? Well. Maybe I’ll do the honours.”

They threw their knife towards Frisk, the deadly blade flying towards their soul. Frisk gasped and tried to move, but the blue that overtook their soul was keeping them still.

Suddenly, just before the knife struck, Frisk was hoisted up in the air, the knife sinking into the wall behind them. Frisk looked down at Sans; his left hand was outstretched, the blue lingering on his fingertips having directed the human upwards. Their soul clenched as Sans brought them down behind him, their feet landing on the floor surprisingly softly.

“you’re not dusting this human, demon,” Sans proclaimed. “i need them alive.”

“Curious . . .” Chara murmured.

Frisk swallowed hard, their dry throat unable to glean words. “S-sans . . . we have to—”

“You’re not going anywhere, I’m afraid.” Chara extended their hand towards their knife, which remained lodged in the wall. As though caught by a fishing line, the knife jerked out of the wall to their resting hand, where their fingers wrapped around its handle.

A torrent of red knives materialised above Chara, all pointed towards Sans and Frisk. Frisk reached out and grabbed Sans’s arm, attempting to tug him to the door. Sans remained a statue, his glowing eye focused on Chara, murder screaming in its depths.

The knives sped towards them, red wisps trailing in their wake. Sans side-stepped to the left, whereas Frisk jumped to the right just in time. A stray knife cut the lock of hair holding the ribbon, causing it to fall onto the cyan, yellow and red stained floor.

Frisk quickly reached for it, Sans – having seen the ribbon fall – stretching out his hand to take it too. The two grasped the ribbon, Sans’s phalanges intertwining with Frisk’s.

The cyan ribbon abruptly pulsed in their hands, a bright flash exuding from it. Frisk looked up at Sans in surprise, finding his eye trained on them with likewise confusion. Frisk’s stomach jolted. The ground suddenly spun from under Frisk, the human feeling as though they were falling through the air. The last thing they saw before they blacked out was Sans’s glowing cyan and yellow eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why doesn't Chara have a soul? What happened to Sans and Frisk? What are they going to do now that their plan has failed?
> 
> All valid questions. All will be answered in the next chapters!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for being patient with me. I honestly don't deserve you guys; you're so amazing. Thanks for reading :)


	13. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk and Sans awaken in Snowdin, and some things are sorted out.

_Flashes of colour alighted Frisk’s vision. A bright cyan – a piercing cyan that jabbed sharp talons into their eyes. A harsh yellow swirled in its depths, the light from it more glaring than the sun. The colours were sentient; they were hostile, unforgiving. They exuded a feeling of immense trauma and agony, a madness that sought to drag Frisk under._

_The colour mellowed and become blue. Blue washed them in its gentleness. It was a kinder colour, not abrasive or damaging as the cyan was, but softer. Frisk dimly recalled warmth, a sense of happiness or amusement. It was a comfort._

_A form appeared in Frisk’s haze. An object – no, a person. They glowed with orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue and purple. As the person gazed upon the human, images surfaced in their mind._

_A bed of golden flowers._

_A monitor glowing weakly, the sounds of children echoing from the speakers and reverberating off the dark green walls._

_A face splashed with tears and screams of protest._

_A hug._

_The figure bent down to them – when had they fallen? They appeared concerned, worry on their face that sent a feeling of familiarity to prickle at the edges of Frisk’s mind. They touched Frisk’s face, cupping their cheek, and the human couldn’t help but lean into it. Frisk tried to speak, but their tongue was heavy._

Wake up, Frisk, _the person urged._ Find me when you wake up.

_The human swallowed hard, their surroundings blurring like wet paint on a canvas. The ground spun from underneath them._

Where are you? _Frisk managed to say._

_The person smiled._ You know where I am.

_Their smile filled Frisk’s vision, blackness eating away the environment and sending them tumbling through the blackness._

Frisk gasped, tearing their eyes open as soon as they rose from unconsciousness. Stark whiteness probed their eyes as they blinked quickly, trying to ward off the spots of black that threatened to pull them back to the arms of sleep. The human’s hands grasped the ground underneath them, expecting their fingers to rake across the laboratory floor. Instead, they clutched fresh-fallen snow.

They quickly jolted upright, dragging themselves into a sitting position and ignoring their disoriented feeling. Snow slid from their sweater, causing them to shiver involuntarily. They shook snowflakes from their hair, the white powder being caught in their tangles. Their fingers trembled as they touched their face, their skin feeling as cold as ice. Trees stared down at them from their positions, their roots hidden by the blankets of snow.

Frisk was sitting in Snowdin forest.

_How am I here,_ Frisk thought, rising to their feet and trying to ignore the cold, _if I was in Hotland before?_

The human located their backpack a few metres away – half-covered with snow. They walked over to it and fished out their coat. They sighed from relief from the reassuring warmth as they pulled it on, their quivering hands zipping it up to their throat. They swung their bag onto their back and glanced around, trying to sort the threads of their mind like the various pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

_I was in Hotland._ They started walking, their sneakers plodding on the soft ground. _I was in . . . the True Laboratory. I was there because . . ._ They stopped walking, their eyebrows creasing. It felt as though a large hole tainted their memory, causing them to fall whenever they tried to cross it.

Their plan to use determination suddenly struck them, the hole in their mind filling with recollection. They had gone to the True Laboratory to use the leftover determination from Alphys’s experiments, in order to gain control of the timeline. Then, Frisk would be able to reset this world, and possibly return to theirs.

But something had stopped them.

_Chara,_ Frisk thought, the very name sending chills down their spine, far colder than the icy winds of Snowdin. Frisk had found Chara in the laboratory, using the determination for themselves, for their own demented purpose. Then, they had wanted _Frisk,_ so they could take their red soul and get the last source of determination in this timeline. They didn’t reveal why they needed all that determination, but it was clear that it was for a very bad reason.

Now, since Chara has used all the leftover determination, Frisk and Sans are stuck in this timeline. A timeline that is completely at mercy to Chara.   

_Sans!_ Frisk thought, the image of the skeleton cropping up suddenly in their mind. Sans had fought Chara in the lab, his eye leaking large quantities of cyan and yellow to the extent that it splattered the ground in deep puddles. Chara had tried to kill Frisk with their knife, but Sans had levitated them off the ground to his side in safety. Chara had sent a wave of red knives at them, to which they both dodged.

The cyan ribbon had fallen, and both Frisk and the skeleton grasped it, and now –

_And now I’m in Snowdin?_ Frisk mused, their brown eyes scanning the forest warily. Their hands were hidden in their jacket sleeves for warmth. Every exhale produced a heavy mist. _Somehow, I was teleported to Snowdin? Would Sans be here too?_

The human instinctively reached up to their hair to grip the ribbon, but their fingers closed around air. Their heart quickened.

Sans was gone, and so was the ribbon.

“Sans?” Frisk called, forcing their shaky legs to move. The soles of their shoes crunched on the hardening ground as they wandered the forest, searching frantically for any signs of the cyan ribbon or the skeleton. It was only logical that they would both be in Snowdin, as they held the ribbon at the same time. He was surely in the forest somewhere. Frisk pulled the hood of their coat over them, their head burrowing into the fur-lined garment.

Just as they walked past a tree, their eyes fixed on a figure on the ground a few metres away, curled into a foetal position. The person wore a large blue hoodie and black basketball shorts. A pink slipper was lying on the ground away from them.

“Sans!” Frisk ran towards the skeleton, holding the straps of their backpack. They scooped up his slipper and slowed to a walk, peering curiously at Sans.

As they neared, it became increasingly clear that something was amiss. The cyan and yellow magic that leaked from his eye had covered the snow underneath him, drenching him in a puddle. His clothes were splattered with it, the spots of cyan and yellow stretching over the apparel like thick, dripping fingers. The mixture hissed quietly, the snow it contacted evaporating and the clothing it touched singeing from its heat.

“ _hnngh_ ,” Sans groaned. His back faced Frisk, his arms covering his skull. His bones rattled, his very frame shaking. Something was wrong with him, but Frisk couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“S-sans?” Frisk whispered, uncertainty colouring his name.

The skeleton suddenly twisted so his face was towards Frisk. The human – startled – took a sudden step back.

Tongues of cyan and yellow poured thickly from his left eye socket, drenching his face in the viscous liquid. It surged from the eye socket insanely fast, the fluid gushing out from past his phalanges, which clawed at his eye sockets to the point of wedging themselves in. His magic flowed and stained his white bones, pale steam rising from it and sizzling as it descended his front. The substance had filled his left eye socket, his eye hidden beneath the molten swirls of yellow and cyan. Bright light glowed from it like akin to a dull sun. A wide smile was stretched across his face.

Sans let out another pained groan, curling more into himself as the magic increased its pace, seeping onto the snow before him. The rattling of his bones amplified.

“Sans!” Frisk called again, running to him and shaking his shoulder gently, the bones underneath the fabric of the hoodie quaking under their fingertips. The magic from beneath him heated their shoes.

The skeleton let out a shallow gasp, stiffening at their touch. The liquid in his eye socket bubbled thickly, the glow emitting from it growing in intensity. The magic flowing from it quickened.

“human?” Sans rasped quizzically. The magic in his socket surged and overflowed, as if the eye underneath was trying to pinpoint Frisk’s location.

“Yes, Sans, it’s me,” they replied, trying to keep their fear out of their voice. The heat from the skeleton was like Hotland; the magic melting the soles of their shoes and causing them to sweat. “What’s happening to you? Why’s your magic like that?”

The skeleton winced, his shoulders hunching. His hands slid up to clutch at his left eye socket, the liquid hissing as it met the bone of his palm. “get away – quick.” The urgency and pain in his voice caused them to shake.

Frisk nodded and obeyed, hurriedly moving away from the skeleton. Sans pulled himself to his feet with difficulty, one bare foot being completely submerged in his leaked magic. He shuddered as he turned, the back of his hoodie facing Frisk.

Before the human could speak a word, a giant gasterblaster materialised into existence above the skeleton. Frisk turned away, hiding their head in their arms, as the set of jaws parted, a laser shooting forth from its maw. The beam it fired was thick and hot, the trees before it disintegrating on contact, the wood and bark crumbling into ash piles. The heat blasted the back of Frisk’s legs and they winced, feeling as though – even from far away – they had gotten burnt.

Sans produced two other gasterblasters to his left and right, soon firing their own beams of raw magic into the forest. The trees splintered and broke under the intensity of the three lasers, the snow underneath them melting to bare green earth. Two more gasterblasters formed at his shoulders. The five sets of jaws roared as they fired deep into the forest.

After what felt like an eternity, the gasterblasters dematerialised to blue wisps. Frisk peered out from behind their arms, turning back towards the skeleton. Their eyes widened.

The area around the skeleton was in complete destruction. The leafless trees that had grown in front of Sans were reduced to a pile of ash. The disintegration of the vegetation continued deep into the forest; Frisk had to squint to see that the trees in the far distance had also been destroyed. The snow had melted from under him, exposing earth that was severely uneven, as though it was a wave frozen in its surge. Steam rose from the ground in thick white tendrils.

Sans turned around to face Frisk, the rattling of his bones all but ceased. Holes had been singed into his clothing, which was badly stained with cyan and yellow. Trails of his dried magic tainted his face in broad, colourful strokes. The solution that trickled down from his eye had lessened its pace, his glowing eye again visible. Sans’s eye fixed on Frisk, the corners of his smile dipping downwards.

“magic just got a little bit unstable there,” Sans explained, scratching the back of his skull with a hand. His phalanges were stained yellow and blue.

“Does this happen often . . .?” Frisk asked sheepishly.

“only if i'm feelin’ particularly bad.” Sans shrugged and returned his hands to his hoodie’s pockets. The right pocket had a gaping hole in the middle. “normally i just have to release the excess magic in some way or another.” He nodded to the devastation of the forest around him.

Frisk nodded and handed Sans back his slipper. He glanced at it and took it from their hand, swiftly putting it back on his bare foot.

“Um . . . do you want something to eat?” Frisk offered, shouldering off their backpack. They sat cross-legged on the ground, the wet grass dampening their clothes as they rifled through their pack. The human produced two cinnamon bunnies and lifted them up to Sans.

The skeleton stared at the proffered food, his glowing eye fixated on it and his expression unreadable. Eventually, he let out a defeated sigh and sat down in front of Frisk, taking the cinnamon bunny hesitantly from their hand without looking at them.

“i probably should eat,” Sans muttered, inspecting the bakery item in his hands. “with a lot of my magic being unleashed suddenly, it left me . . . pretty drained.” His gaze flicked to them quickly and he muttered something incoherent – did he just say ‘ _thank you_ ’?

Frisk gave him a smile in acknowledgement. They zipped up their backpack as he took an experimental bite out of the cinnamon bunny. Clearly deciding that it wasn’t poisoned or dangerous in any way, the skeleton started eating the food item normally. It was silent as they both ate their respective cinnamon bunnies, not once looking at each other.

 “Sans,” Frisk started, breaking the silence that hung over them like a dark cloud, “what happened in the True Laboratory?”

“i was hopin’ that you would care to explain,” Sans replied, raising a brow bone and looking at them.

“Well . . .” Frisk bit their bottom lip and looked away from his intense gaze. “We went to Hotland on one of your gasterblasters. Then we entered the laboratory and went down the elevator to the True Laboratory.”

Sans scowled slightly, dusting the crumbs of the cinnamon bunny off his hands. “at this point, you started freaking out. trying to get us to go back?”

Frisk squirmed at the mention, the past feeling of anxiety revolving around the laboratory ghosting their flesh. “I just had a bad feeling . . .” they murmured, picking at one of their cuticles. “Something about the laboratory felt wrong.”

Sans exhaled sharply. “you knew that _murderer_ was there?”

“Not specifically. I didn’t know that Chara was in the lab, but I just felt like going there was dangerous.”

Sans tilted his skull to the side, his smile small and his brow bones raised. “that was chara? the king’s human child from like ages ago?” His expression of confusion darkened, a shadow crossing his face. “asgore’s _own_ _human_ killed everyone?”

Frisk nodded, quickly taking the last bite out of their cinnamon bunny, relief flowing through them at the instant energy that was produced from it.

“well then,” Sans said, his voice low and dangerous. Frisk looked up in surprise, their brown eyes fixing on his form. The skeleton’s hands were glowing with blue, his eye sparking brighter. “that human would still be in the lab, right? so, there’s nothing stopping me from going back there and dunking them once and for all.”

Frisk shook their head quickly as he pulled himself up to his feet, determined to trudge off to the laboratory to face Chara again.

“No, you can’t!” Frisk pleaded, waving their hands frantically. The skeleton looked at them defiantly, his smile twisting upwards.

“and why not?” he practically spat, anger pulsing in his tone. “after so long of wandering around here, seething and waiting to bring that murderous parasite to justice, we finally find out that they were _here this whole time_. they murdered everyone! i had to sit and watch as more dust hit the ground as they travelled through the underground. i finally got to them in the judgement hall and i was defeated. i failed everyone . . .”

Sans looked away bitterly, his eye sockets pinching at the edges. Frisk felt a deep pang of sympathy.

The skeleton then sighed, his fists balling at his sides.

“but, now, we know that they’re here. i have a second chance to give them a bad time and avenge everyone. and you’re telling me _not_ to go?” Sans looked at them incredulously, disbelieving. “you must understand, right? you were friends with monsters in your timeline, weren’t you? this _chara_ killed your – killed our – friends. everyone you know and love had been brutally dunked here. surely you must think that they have to pay?”

Frisk sighed and looked away from his imploring gaze. “I know . . .” they mumbled, dragging a finger through the wet blades of grass in front of them. “I know that they killed everyone, but fighting them isn’t the smart way.” They looked up at him beseechingly. “Please. I know how you feel. I’m as mad as you are, but I know that we shouldn’t fight them . . . maybe not just yet. We just have to wait and figure things out, okay? Let’s be smart about this.”

Sans’s frown deepened. “but this is all _their_ fault –” The skeleton ceased his speech and looked at them curiously.

“this _is_ all their fault, isn’t it?” he muttered, realisation flickering on his features. Frisk looked back at him, not understanding his point. “they – chara – said that they had reset your timeline, right? so all this is their fault and not yours. don't you want some payback for that?”

Recollection flooded Frisk’s mind _. Terribly sorry to take away your perfect life up on the surface,_ Chara had said, _but, well . . . this is the better ending._

“I know,” Frisk replied, forcing themselves to stay calm. “I know what they did, and, trust me, I am _so_ mad about that. But we have to stay calm. If we run into the True Laboratory now, they will easily kill us. Plus, they will have the advantage, because the lab is essentially their ‘base’.” Frisk dimly remembered Papyrus talking to them about a strategy book he had read a couple of years ago. Needless to say, Frisk was always on his team in snowball fights. “But, if we wait, they will eventually come to us. During that period of waiting we will have ample time to prepare their downfall. Set traps, plan . . . that sort of thing.”

“that sounds a bit like my bro,” Sans said softly, an expression of sadness rising from his smiling mask. “with the talk to strategy and stuff.”

“He talked to me about that kind of thing a few years back. He always won his snowball fights.” Frisk smiled at the memory of Papyrus crowing triumphantly at the end of a particularly intense snowball fight with Undyne and Alphys. He had pranced around the snowy field, boasting and yelling his success, all while Alphys was trying to convince Undyne to accept her defeat (and stopping her from starting another snowball war; she was not happy about losing). “He was also very good at chess. He would do a few seemingly-harmless moves at the beginning, but he was actually preparing a trap to snare the other player in.”

Sans was breathing hard, looking down at them with a blank expression. Frisk instantly regretted talking about Papyrus; they knew that he was a sore memory for Sans. He finally let out a deep sigh and sat back down, scowling at the ground in front of him.

“fine,” Sans muttered, his tone bitter. It sounded as though he had forced himself to relent. He stretched out his left hand and plucked the grass in front of him, ripping them roughly from the damp earth.

Frisk’s brown eyes crinkled, and they gave him a repentant look. “I’m sorry, you know,” they whispered gently. They extended their right hand and squeezed his left wrist apologetically. Sans gave them a curious look as they withdrew their hand, putting their hands in their coat pocket’s. The skeleton narrowed his eye sockets, his gaze inquisitive.

“it’s fine,” he eventually replied, his gaze flicking to his left hand and back up again. “it wouldn’t have been good if i was reckless, i guess.”

Silence once again draped over them like large, smothering curtains.

“How did we get here, Sans?” Frisk said, looking around the forest. “We were in Hotland, and now we’re in Snowdin. How did that happen?”

“we both touched that ribbon of yours. then, somehow, we . . .” Sans looked around, his expression betraying his suspicion. “. . . _teleported_ here.”

Frisk looked around, remembering the absence of the cyan ribbon. “Where is that ribbon, anyway?”

“beats me.”

Frisk frowned, their gaze slowly sliding to Sans. The skeleton continued to pick the grass, his expression stoic.

“The teleporting,” they began, tilting their head slightly to the side, “was sort of like your shortcuts.”

The skeleton’s smile twitched. Sans’s singular eye rose to stare into Frisk’s brown ones. “exactly.”

The human stared at him, surprised. “ _You_ teleported us here?”

Sans shrugged, pulling one last strand of grass from the ground before returning his hands back to his pockets. “i think so. even though i wouldn’t be able to now.”

“Then how –?”

“the ribbon,” Sans interrupted. “somehow, when we touched the ribbon, it made me do one of my shortcuts.” He shrugged again, looking back down to the ground. “my magic is unstable as it is now. think of it like . . . like a boat caught in the middle of a storm in the ocean. it's constantly thrashing – straining to escape. i can barely hold it, though some of it seeps out of my eye socket here.” He pointed a finger towards his left eye socket, which was still dripping his magic.

“now, since my magic is so unstable, i can’t make shortcuts,” he continued to explain, gesturing with his hands to elaborate. “’shortcuts’ are another form of teleportation. in order to do it, though, you have to basically tear a hole in the fabric of the plane. this forms a clear window to the place that you want to be, hence the name ‘shortcut’. it requires intense focus and a strong hold on your magic, because you have to feel for little ‘ripples’ in the air. they move slightly . . . like a buzz at the end of your fingertips. these ripples allow you to easily tear a hole.”

Sans looked at Frisk, and his smile widened slightly at their confusion. “ok. imagine you have a chisp packet. they have areas where it’s easily torn open, right? if you tear the packet at these areas, it makes it easier to get at the chisps inside. the ‘ripples’ are like that. they make it easier to tear a hole and make a shortcut.

“now the ripples in the mortal plane are kinda hard to find. there's lots of them, but they’re hard to detect. hence, concentration and focused magic. since my magic is unbalanced, i can’t find the ripples, so i can’t shortcut.

“making sense?”

Frisk nodded. This was one of the rare moments where Sans didn’t appear threatening or imposing, but more like a shadow of his self in Frisk’s timeline. Their Sans was adept and explaining things to them when they didn’t understand, often employing the use of analogies or comparisons (like the time he used a trashcan to explain string theory; Frisk was _still_ unsure how that comparison made them understand better). This Sans was reflecting the nature of their Sans, which made Frisk more relaxed around him. Maybe, since he was happy with explaining things to them, he was becoming more relaxed and comfortable around them too.

“all right. shortcuts are made by ripping through ripples, which require intense concentration and a strong magical ability, which i don’t have, so i can’t make shortcuts or teleport,” Sans continued to explain, appearing surprisingly content. “but, when i touched the ribbon . . . i guess it focused my magic? it was like walking around with bad eyesight and everything was blurry for years, and then finally getting prescription lenses. i suddenly felt all the ripples and i just reacted on old instinct. i tore a hole and sent us through it quickly subconsciously.”

He winced and scratched the back of his skull. “but it was a little choppier than how i used to.”

Frisk blinked, thinking over this new information in their head. “So, the ribbon somehow balanced your magic again?”

Sans nodded. “basically.”

Frisk looked at him, but spotted something cyan behind Sans. Getting to their feet, they walked around the skeleton and plucked the ribbon off the ground. It hummed in their grasp, a feeling of calm flowing in their veins. When they turned, they found Sans staring at the ribbon closely.

“If it helps you,” Frisk started, walking back over to the skeleton, “then you should have it.” They gathered the ribbon in one hand and extended it to Sans, offering it to him.

The skeleton’s single eye was fixated on the ribbon. His arm twitched, his hand reaching towards it.

As if he suddenly came to his senses, his hand jerked back. He looked at the ground, his smile twisted into a grimace. Frisk’s eyebrows creased as they slightly withdrew their hand in confusion.

“no,” Sans mumbled. “it’s yours.”

“But it can help –”

“no. that mystery person in your dreams and apparently in this timeline wanted you to have it, right? that _mystery someone_ that you apparently don’t know their location.”

Frisk exhaled sharply at the mention of the person in their dreams. Before they had woken in Snowdin, they had been there, though briefly. When Frisk saw them, their memory was close to yielding the truth of their identity, the images of the golden flowers among others coming to their mind. The person had told the human to find them. If they found them, then Frisk could finally see who was trying to help them.

“Sans,” Frisk said. They brought the cyan ribbon up to their hair, tying it around a thick brown lock. The part of Chara’s soul inside sent patience through them, the ribbon pulsing cyan faintly.

“what?” Sans gave them a quizzical look.

“I know where they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the majority of the next chapter is going to be the journey to finally find the person from Frisk's dreams. I have dropped hints to who they are, so I think, at this point, it's pretty easy to figure out their identity.
> 
> Over 1400 reads, guys! That's amazing! Thank you guys for every read, every kudos, every bookmark and every comment! :D
> 
> Also, just another thing I felt like adding:  
>  _He rarely ate, and, when he did, he did not rely on a human to provide him with food. Despite the human’s apparent good intentions, Sans would never agree to take food from them. He would rather starve._
> 
> Heh heh heh . . .


	14. The Murmurings of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Frisk walk through Waterfall to find the mystery person.

“i hate waterfall,” Sans muttered, his tone bitter as his single eye glared at the soft, swampy blue soil at his feet.

Frisk and Sans were standing at the point halfway to Snowdin and Waterfall, where the snow of the former gives way to the spongey earth of the wet landscape ahead. A couple minutes previously, the pair had walked at a brisk pace to Waterfall, only to halt when Sans stopped in his tracks, staring at the ground with such venom as though it had done him a personal wrong.

“I know,” Frisk said, blowing a stray hair out of their face. The human peered ahead into the darkness of Waterfall. “But it’s where the mystery person is.”

Sans shifted from foot to foot, his expression displaying that of discomfort.

Frisk sighed, but couldn’t blame the skeleton. The last time they had gone through Waterfall on the gasterblaster, the echo flowers within reverberated the screams of the fallen monsters, the ghastly sounds shrouding the landscape in an eerie choir. The wails and shouts were unsettling to Frisk, making their skin crawl as they heard the piercing echoes of their friends yowling in agony being repeated over and over, ricocheting off the blue walls of Waterfall. But to Sans, the relentless torrent of cries would be more painstaking.

 _i had to sit and watch as more dust hit the ground as they travelled through the underground,_ Sans had said, pain blatant in his voice. _i finally got to them in the judgement hall and i was defeated. i failed everyone . . ._

Waterfall would be a giant reminder of his failure, kept alive by the monsters that still screamed their last words.

The skeleton eventually heaved a sigh, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and started walking, leaving the Snowdin snow behind him. Frisk walked quickly to catch up, cautious enough to trail behind him.

The earth under Frisk’s shoes was soft, sinking slightly with every step and moisture seeping into their soles. The sound of rushing water drowned the cries of the echo flowers, to which Frisk was thankful. Blue light alighted the dark of Waterfall, the shining stones on the ceiling of the Underground more visible than in Snowdin due to the absence of clouds.

Frisk could remember Waterfall from back when they had first fallen. To them, the environment was less sinister; tinkling and monotonous whispers resonating throughout instead of screams. The air had been fresh and clean, unlike the unsavoury dampness and mugginess that currently clouded the area. Waterfall had been filled with a wide array of monsters (they could vaguely remember a flexing contest), whereas now all was left was dust. Dust, that had possibly sunk into the soft ground long ago.

There was a great flash of blue and Frisk jolted to attention, finding that they had lagged behind. The human ran to catch up, slowing when they neared a familiar room. One of Sans’s (numerous) stations sat untouched, the snow on the roof still caked on like a white blanket. The room was as how they remembered it, despite the nonappearance of monsters and the save point.

Frisk’s brown eyes spotted a peculiar blue stump in the ground. Their gaze rose to the flower head speared against the wall behind it, a pale bone pierced through the middle.

The human turned, making eye contact with Sans, who had stopped in order for them to catch up. His cyan and yellow eye flicked to the damaged echo flower for a moment, before meeting Frisk’s gaze again. His brow bones were raised, as if he was daring Frisk to say something.

Frisk remained silent.

The skeleton blinked once and resumed walking, his shoulders hunched and head down. Frisk followed, gripping the straps of their backpack.

The pair past the dimensional box (Frisk resisted the temptation to look inside) and waded through the water that spilled from the waterfall to their left. The warm water soaked the bottom of their shorts and licked against their bare legs. Cyan and yellow droplets from Sans’s eye fell into the water, floating on the surface in small circles. Rocks and boulders toppled over the waterfall. Sans crossed with no trouble, barely paying attention to the falling rocks or the water that lapped against his bones. The human let out a yelp as a falling rock came dangerously close to pushing them down, jumping back just in time. Sans didn’t look back at Frisk, instead sending another bone to spear the echo flower down below as he reached the shore.

Sans had grown silent, but Frisk supposed that that was just. Frisk knew that he didn’t feel like talking, not when traversing through the punishing terrain of Waterfall; a place that was a constant reminder of the fallen monsters. Yet the silence from the two made the screams of the echo flowers louder, the unholy cries pushing against the roar of rushing water. Frisk swallowed hard at the sounds and gripped the cyan ribbon tightly, trying to find consolation in the steady pulses it emitted against their skin.

The pair pushed through a slippery patch of grass, Frisk nearly losing Sans’s head in the swaths of tall green. Frisk remembered hiding in there, back when they first fell. Papyrus and Undyne were discussing their capture, all while Frisk had been trying to keep quiet. Back then, Undyne appeared so threatening; her armour sleek and imposing. She had aimed her spear at them, later claiming that she did not strike due to the grass being protected.

The smiled at the memory of Monsterkid bouncing up and down excitedly at Undyne’s brief interaction with Frisk. He idolised Undyne then, but eventually turned to Papyrus to be his hero. The many times Frisk invited Monsterkid over to the skelebros’ house on the surface never failed to disappoint, the reptilian monster being star-struck and struggling to keep up with Papyrus’s large strides, tripping numerous times in his wake.

Sans and Frisk continued and met the bridge seeds. Instead of placing the bridge seeds in the water to form a path, the skeleton summoned large bones to walk across. Sans walked over the pale femurs with perfect balance, Frisk following with more difficulty. Frisk knew somewhere that there was a bench with an abandoned quiche underneath, but couldn’t remember exactly where.

As they walked into the wishing room – the light from the stones above casting sinister shadows – the pair were assaulted by the screams of the five echo flowers within. Frisk stopped in their tracks.

_Save me!_

_Help!_

_Please don’t kill me!_

_I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill them!_

_Somebody save us!_

The screams echoed around the room, piercing the human’s ears with their strangled pleading. Tears beaded in the corners of their brown eyes and they raised their hands to their head, trying to muffle the noise. The cries seemed to be echoing in their head, the bounty of voices calling and yelling and screeching bouncing inside Frisk’s skull. The clamour was deafening, the thoughts in their mind scrambling over the weight of the monsters’ agony. The piece of Chara’s soul that reflected patience was quieted.

Sans’s spine stiffened and he stood still. His bones rattled in response to the unyielding screams, though the noise was muted by the flowers. He raised his left hand, blue wreathing his stained phalanges. Frisk could see long bones forming above him.

“Sans,” Frisk said suddenly, an idea wrestling against the screaming voices inside their head and pushing to the forefront of their mind. Their voice sounded pitifully soft. They tried to speak louder. “What’s your favourite colour?”

The skeleton paused, the half-formed bones clattering into non-existence. The blue around his hand sputtered as he turned around, his expression betraying his confusion.

 _Sans. What’s your favourite colour?_ The echo flowers said, the question repeated around the wishing room.

“what?” the skeleton replied. He looked at all the echo flowers, which were repeating Frisk’s question back and forth, their quiet voice resonating from the flower heads.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Frisk said again, more confident. They removed their hands from their ears and looked at him quizzically.

“why?”

“Why what?”

“why would you ask that?” Sans asked, his tone reflecting slight irritation. “what’s the point in asking that?”

Frisk glanced down at their feet. The soft soil underneath them had partially enveloped their shoes, as though it was slowly dragging them under. “To get your mind off . . . well . . . you know.” The human looked back up at him sheepishly, weakly gesturing towards the echo flowers. “I thought that having a conversation might help.”

Sans stared at them, a single drop of his magic languidly trailing down his cheekbone. His permanent smile did not flinch. The skeleton was as still as a statue.

He soon turned around and started walking again, deeper into Waterfall. Disappointed at his lack of an answer, Frisk followed, letting out a quiet sigh. As they left the wishing room, the echo flowers repeated the last few sentences of their conversation:

_What’s your favourite colour?_

_why?_

_Why what?_

_why would you ask that? what’s the point in asking that_

_To get your mind off . . . well . . . you know. I thought a conversation might help._

Frisk smiled slightly at the last sentence. _So much for a conversation,_ they thought with faint amusement, eyes flicking upwards to look at Sans’s back. Back in Snowdin, Sans had taken their proffered cinnamon bunny, and was generally friendlier than he had been before. Despite this, he was still a long way from being comfortable around Frisk. Frisk couldn’t blame him, though; they were still working on being comfortable around Sans. Yet with every use of his magic they were unnerved, unable to stop themselves from shaking with unease. The ribbon sent down a feeling of patience through them.

 _He will become comfortable with you, just as you will with him,_ it seemed to be saying. _But you must remain patient._

As the two made it to a wide block in the path – the other side barely visible by the expanse of water in front of them – Sans conjured a large gasterblaster and promptly sat on it. Frisk climbed on, sitting behind the skeleton as he set the skull onwards with a wave of a cerulean hand. Sans had his back to Frisk, his shoulders hunched and still. The human crossed their legs in an effort to sit comfortably and put their hands together, their fingers tapping against each other absentmindedly.

The gasterblaster made it halfway across the water when Sans spoke: “i don’t know what my favourite colour is.”

Frisk blinked, looking up from their clasped hands to look at him. He had not turned around.

“i don’t know because there are many colours,” Sans continued. “there’s bright reds, and vibrant oranges and yellows like a sunrise. deep purples and greens. the darkest blacks and the sharpest whites.”

“That’s all right,” Frisk replied, brushing a piece of hair behind their ear. They were glad that he was talking. “I don’t know mine, either.”

The gasterblaster made it to the other side, and the two quickly got off the giant skull. The gasterblaster dissipated into blue wisps with another wave of Sans’s hand, the faint whirring of its rows of teeth disappearing.

Frisk glanced around their environment, recognition prickling at the edges of their mind. They were on a winding path, with several columns in a line on their left. Undyne had attacked them there nine years ago, sending barrages of spears at them as they hurried across the wooden planks.

“remember this place, human?” Sans asked curiously, catching their expression before he turned and started walking. Frisk followed.

“Yes. Undyne attacked me here. You see those pillars to our left?” Frisk pointed to them, despite the fact that Sans wouldn’t be able to see their action. “She appeared from behind one and started hurtling spears at me. I was lucky to get out of there alive.”

Sans chuckled quietly, the sound betraying genuine amusement. “yeah. she was good at her job, all right.” He scratched the back of his skull.

Frisk smiled and nodded. Their gaze turned wistful as they walked, their mind replaying their memories with Undyne. “Yes. She’s very . . . passionate. And strong. When cooking with me, she smashed all the ingredients, destroyed the saucepan and burnt her house down.”

“i can see that happening,” Sans replied. They met another patch of long grass and shouldered through it, the long blades licking Frisk’s hair as they passed. “not strong enough to take down chara, though.”

Frisk grew silent, staring at the ground as they walked. The part of Chara’s soul that inhabited the ribbon pulsed cyan weakly.

The two grew near another echo flower, one which grew next to a pink crystal with cheese inside. Before they were assaulted with the screams of monsters again, Sans picked up the threads of their conversation:

“speaking of chara, what were you doing in the true lab?” Sans turned partially, giving them an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

“Sorry?”

“you, uh, did something with my left wrist?” Sans lifted his left arm in elaboration, raising a brow bone. “like . . . squeezing it? rhythmically?” He replicated the action, looking at Frisk questioningly.

“Oh.” Frisk bit their lip, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. They had done that in the True Laboratory in an effort to calm him down, not really thinking that he had paid attention to it. He probably thought them weird. “Um, I was trying to calm you . . .?”

Sans just stared.

Frisk felt their face grow hot. “U-um, I’m sorry.”

The skeleton gave them a rare, genuine smile. “nah, it’s fine.” Sans turned back around, quietly laughing at their embarrassment. “thanks for that. it helped a bit, you know.”

The human smiled in relief. “You’re welcome, I suppose.”

Frisk and Sans walked on, the sounds of screaming from the flowers partially muffled. The echo flowers they passed caught snippets of their conversation, repeating it back and forth and forming a continuous whispering; a whispering that drowned out some of the cries of agony that other flowers were echoing. It made Waterfall more pleasant – a shadow of its former self.

“I remember that telescope!” Frisk said, pointing to the device as the two passed it.

“oh, really?” Sans said. Frisk could practically hear a brow bone raise. Sans and Frisk travelled downwards, their path alight by the luminous blue water that lapped at its sides. The blue tufts of grass from underneath their feet brushed against their shins.

“When I first fell, and was wandering around Waterfall in my timeline, you convinced me to look in that telescope,” Frisk explained with a grin, their mind filled with the ridiculous memory. They avoided saying ‘ _My Sans’_ ; Frisk didn’t want Sans to think that they viewed him as a different person from the one from their timeline. Even though the Sans from their timeline was more of a jokester, and friendlier, and this one was more withdrawn and unstable, they were just Sans.

“I looked in the telescope, but all I could see was red,” they continued to explain. “So, I just walked off, not thinking much of it. But everyone I met kept laughing at me. I looked down in the water and saw a giant red spot over my eye!”

The skeleton laughed. “i love that joke. i used to pull it on my bro all the time.”

Frisk shook their head. They were walking the long path, the one where Onion-san would surface from the water and strike up a conversation. Onion-san in their timeline now lived in the ocean, where Frisk visited him in a boat twice a month. He was happy, and even started a band which gained some popularity.

“where is this person, anyway?” Sans asked as they eventually passed the familiar statue, rain from above pouring on its head. He stopped, turning around to face them. “do you actually know where they are, or are we wandering aimlessly?”

Frisk frowned, reaching up to the cyan ribbon and tugging it from their hair. It vibrated softly against their fingertips, its soft cyan light splashing on their palms. Through it, patience was exchanged.

The human’s knowledge of the mystery person’s whereabouts was as mysterious as the person they were finding. Frisk knew where they were, but, again, did not. It was like a fleeting thought – one which would become close to recognition before flitting away. They had almost _forgotten_ why they were in Waterfall in the first place, too caught up in the memories of the wet landscape and keeping Sans happy.

A thought crossed their mind.

“Umbrella,” Frisk proclaimed, gripping the ribbon tighter. “We need an umbrella.”

Unsatisfied with Sans’s confused expression, the human darted into the room ahead, their brown eyes searching. Spotting the trash can of umbrellas, they grabbed one and opened it, the thin wires akin to the fragile bones of a bat’s wing, stretching the pink fabric into a large canopy.

They walked back into the previous room, holding the umbrella in one hand while the other held the ribbon. Frisk walked past Sans and rested the umbrella in between the hands of the statue, the pink umbrella protecting it from the rain.

“what was tha—?”

“Shh,” Frisk interrupted, giving Sans a look. “Just listen.”

Sans raised his brow bones, but said nothing, instead peering intently at the statue along with the human.

From the insides of the rock statue, a warbling song emerged, the soft tingling striking the cords of familiarity in Frisk’s mind. They had heard this tune many times, and it was one which they could not help to feel saddened by. It reminded them of a patch of golden flowers, the television screen in the True Laboratory with all the home videos and . . . a hug.

“Howdy!” a voice said from behind them.

Frisk and Sans both stiffened, their spines straightening in surprise. They slowly turned around in unison, Sans’s left hand instantly glowing blue whilst Frisk gripped the ribbon tighter.

The human’s eyes widened in shock.

“ _A-asriel . . ._?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! It's Asriel! Well done to those that guessed correctly! :P
> 
> I apologise also because this chapter is barely edited because I am tired as heck. My eyes have more bags than a rich person doing a shopping spree. That's a slight exaggeration, but you get the picture.
> 
> I'm excited for the next chapter though! It should bring to light some things, which is good! It might turn into a massive information dump though . . . but I guess we'll see.
> 
> Also, guys, over 1600 hits and 80+ kudos! You people are insane! Thank you so much; you have no idea how happy I am about you guys :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! :)


	15. Do You Think That Even the Worst Person Can Change . . .?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk and Sans have everything explained to them, with some hostilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: MASS INFORMATION DUMP CHAPTER.
> 
> I am so sorry.

Asriel appeared like he was back when Frisk was seven. He was small and short, the size of a young child. His white fur was tousled, a slight, wispy tuft on the top of his round head. His ears were floppy, drooping downwards to brush against his shoulders. All this was familiar to Frisk, yet, from behind his green-and-yellow-striped sweater, inside his ribcage, glowed an assortment of colours: cyan, orange, blue, purple, green and yellow. The colours swirled and shined inside Asriel’s chest, phasing and pulsing in a slow, languid pace. Frisk watched the colours, entranced, whereas Sans narrowed his eye sockets at him, the blue around his left hand still not fading.

Aware of Frisk’s and Sans’s staring, the goat boy shuffled his feet and grinned sheepishly, giving them a small, hesitant wave.

“Howdy!” Asriel repeated in an effort to break the cloud of awkward silence and piercing stares. “I’m here to help!” The blue light in his chest glowed brighter, superseding and smothering the other five colours.

Sans was the first to pull himself from his reverie, though the suspicion playing on his features did not disappear, nor did his waiting magic. “so, you’re asriel, huh? like the king’s son?”

Asriel nodded. “Yes!”

“and even though you died – after the whole ‘absorbed chara’s soul, went to the surface, got attacked by humans and came back to die on a patch of flowers’ thing – you’ve come back?”

The goat monster’s eyebrows creased slightly, and Frisk – realising the existence of the pair’s conversation – looked at Sans quizzically.

“Yes . . .?”

“and _where_ exactly have you been all this time?”

Asriel seemed to wilt, the colours blooming in his chest withering and fading in intensity, the colours pulsing weakly. He hung his head at Sans’s accusatory gaze, his eyes avoiding the skeleton’s dripping one. “I’ve been . . . I’ve been asleep . . .?” Asriel caught Sans’s unsatisfied look and he quickly added: “I’ve been hibernating? In a sleeping trance? S-something like that.”

“sleeping, huh?” Sans repeated, his tone as harsh as a sharp winter breeze. The skeleton’s eye glowed brighter in his obvious annoyance. Asriel looked at his feet, the size colours in his chest pale and flickering, moving like sludge. “and how come you’ve been _sleeping_ while all this has happened?”

“It’s – It’s a long s-story . . .” Asriel replied softly, shame colouring his voice.

Before the skeleton could deliver another scathing comment, Frisk interjected: “Hey, Sans, don’t be so harsh.” The sixteen-year-old human gave Sans a scolding look, to which the skeleton huffed at, but relented, resorting to glare distrustfully at the goat instead, his left hand still glowing a threatening sapphire. Asriel, Frisk realised, was still a child, and should be talked to kindly and delicately. Asriel was also sensitive and compassionate, despite all the horrors and hardships he faced by living as a soulless flower. However, the human could not blame Sans for being so severe and sceptical towards the goat child; not much had been explained by Asriel, leaving both the skeleton and the human stumbling in murky, uncertain darkness.

“Asriel,” Frisk said, addressing the goat, “why have you brought us here?” Their brown eyes slid downwards to his glowing chest and gestured. “And what is with the colours?”

Asriel blinked quickly and produced a smile, as though he had brushed aside the guilt that had surfaced from his brief exchange with Sans. “As I said – both in your dreams and now – I’m here to help you.” The blue light in his chest glowed brighter again, which prompted the green to glow equally brightly; both colours overriding the others. “I realised that you both need to know what’s happened . . . Why Frisk is here in this timeline rather than theirs, how Chara –” he winced as he said their name – “influenced this timeline and how they could do it . . . I also want to tell you both my plan, and why I advised Frisk to respond to six calls for help.”

Frisk frowned slightly, reaching to their hair and gently extracting the cyan ribbon. They held it in their hands, the cyan glow emitting from it casting a soft light on their palms. Frisk watched it for a few moments before looking up to see Asriel nodding in response.

“so, you’re finally going to explain everything, after so long of both of us being in the dark?” Sans muttered, crossing his arms pointedly. His menacing smile curled into a sneer. “how noble of you.”

The skeleton spat the last sentence in a sarcastic, mocking tone, which caused Asriel’s fur to bristle on his neck. It was clear that he was somewhat unnerved by Sans; Frisk gave the skeleton another look, which was responded with a raise of a brow bone.

“I’ll explain everything, no details left behind or excluded,” Asriel assured, ignoring Sans’s barb. The goat then sat, crossing his legs, not unlike a child at school. The cyan light in his chest glowed brighter. “If you want to sit down . . . This information is a lot to take in.” He gestured towards the soft floor of Waterfall.

Frisk followed Asriel’s advice and sat, shouldering off their dark blue backpack so it rested at their side. The dampness of the earth seeped into their shorts, but it was slight, barely noticeable and not worth making a fuss. The human looked to Sans, who was still standing, not a feature of his skeletal frame twitching. Under the weight of both Frisk and Asriel staring at him, he let out a great sigh, sitting down unhappily, propping his elbow on one leg and resting his skull on his palm. The blue wreath around his left hand faded. His expression was sour.

Asriel took a deep breath. “OK. I guess the only right place to start is at the beginning.” He glanced at Frisk and Sans inquisitively. “I’m guessing both of you have heard the story of Chara and I?”

Frisk nodded. Sans gave a half-hearted jerk of his head, a trail of magic leaking from his left socket.

“Right. So, Chara fell, my parents adopted them, and we became close,” Asriel continued. “Chara and I . . . we wanted to free monsterkind from the Underground. So, inspired by our accident in making Dad – I mean, Asgore – sick, Chara used buttercups to make themselves ill. They died, and I absorbed their soul, becoming an immensely powerful—”

“we just said that we’ve heard the story,” Sans interrupted, his expression one of boredom. “skip to the part that matters.”

Asriel scowled, and Frisk gave him a look of apology. “Fine. So, we made it to the surface, I didn’t hurt the humans, and I died on the golden flowers. When I had absorbed Chara’s soul, I wasn’t just _me._ It was _us –_ both myself _and_ Chara. We had two souls, one being mine and the other being theirs.

“So, when we died on the golden flowers, my soul – me – died, scattering into dust. Human souls are a bit more resilient, so Chara’s soul didn’t disappear. Their soul must have been influenced slightly by the monster nature of becoming dust after death, so it split into pieces. Six pieces, to be exact.

“These six soul fragments didn’t understand why they weren’t in a body, you see,” Asriel continued to explain, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “They didn’t know that they were dead, that their host – Chara – was dead. So, all six pieces of Chara’s soul instinctively called for help. They received none, so they all split off in search for help, separating from the other soul pieces. So, Chara was dead, and their soul was gone, the six pieces disappearing mysteriously.”

“So, when both of you died, Chara’s soul split?” Frisk repeated, working the new information into their head. Sans looked over to them. “Six pieces . . . like the six other human soul traits?”

Asriel beamed, snapping his fingers. “Exactly. Over the years, six humans fell into the Underground: Patience, Bravery, Integrity, Perseverance, Kindness and Justice. Each human left objects – remnants of themselves – all around, from the Ruins all the way to Hotland. These remnants were in the form of clothing and weapons, dropped by the six humans on their journey. These items were infused with traces of the corresponding human’s soul trait, which also gave them magical properties. Though faint, it was these faint remnants of soul traits that responded to each of the six pieces of Chara’s soul and their calls for help. So, the pieces of Chara’s soul went to them. The fallen humans left two items – an article of clothing and a weapon. These two items shared the remnant soul trait of the specific human they belonged to, which resulted the Chara’s soul pieces to ‘go’ to both of them. For example, one piece of Chara’s soul might go to Bravery’s manly bandana and tough glove in Snowdin –” Asriel glanced at the cyan ribbon in Frisk’s hands – “or go to Patience’s faded ribbon and toy knife in the Ruins.”

Frisk looked down at the ribbon, its cyan colour glowing faintly. “So, this ribbon really does have a part of Chara’s soul in it? And its responsible for the trait of Patience?”

Asriel nodded. “Yes, for both questions.”

“And Chara’s soul splitting and going to these items left by the humans . . . does it happen in every timeline?”

“Yes.”

Frisk’s eyebrows met, and they looked up at Asriel. “If Chara’s soul fragments goes to these items in every timeline, then does that mean what I saw in the Ruins – the red apparition of Chara and the cyan one of Patience fighting – happens in every timeline?”

The goat monster shook his head. “No; only in this timeline. Though that was caused because of me.”

“How?”

“I’ll get to that in a bit,” Asriel promised.

The goat took a deep breath before resuming his tale: “So, Chara and I both died, my soul disappearing and theirs splitting into six. The six soul pieces went to the fallen humans’ lost items. My mother took Chara’s body and buried them under a patch of golden flowers in the Ruins, and Alphys’s experiments on determination brought me back in the form of . . .” Asriel faltered, his expression turning pained. He appeared to change his mind about something, and continued with instead: “Well, she brought me back as someone not myself.”

_Flowey,_ Frisk thought. Asriel looked uncomfortable, his hands clasping together in front of him tightly, as if to be certain that they were not leaves. The human felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the goat; Flowey had done a large number of unspeakable things, and Asriel would think them his fault. Of course he didn’t want to mention it, not even now. They looked at Sans in the corner of their eye, hoping that he didn’t pay attention to Asriel’s hesitation. Luckily, he just appeared as bored as ever.

“I was by the garden of golden flowers in the Ruins, waiting for a human to fall,” continued Asriel, looking downwards. “Six had fallen, and I was waiting for another. And something did fall . . . but it certainly wasn’t _normal._ ”

“what was it, then?” Sans asked impatiently, moving his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.

The goat’s eyebrows creased, his mouth turning downwards in a small frown. “It was like a red _mass_ . . . Wispy, like a cloud of red smoke. Whatever it was, I had no idea, and could only watch as it gently floated down.”

It might have been Frisk’s imagination, but they could have sworn they felt the ribbon in their hands shiver.

“The red _thing_ travelled into the earth, right into the bed of golden flowers.” Asriel unclasped his hands, driving an index finger into the soft earth, as if to accentuate his retelling. “I stared at the place it drove into the ground, not quite believing what I had seen. But, just as I was about to leave, a hand pushed its way out of the earth, and a human clawed out of the dirt right before my eyes.”

Frisk’s eyes widened, imagining the horrific scene. It reminded them of those cliché zombie movies, where the undead would push their way out of their graves. Needless to say, Papyrus was never allowed to watch those movies, lest he fear to go outside.

“The human that rose from the flowers . . .” Frisk began, swallowing hard, “was that Chara?”

Asriel nodded solemnly, and Sans appeared to snap to attention, paying attention to the goat’s story more closely.

“Yes,” Asriel whispered, staring at the ground before him with such intensity, that Frisk was expecting a hand to burst out of it. “The red thing that had fallen had sunken into the earth and reanimated Chara’s dead body, also, somehow, restoring it until it appeared as though they had never died. Their body was operating on pure, raw determination.

“Chara looked at me and smiled. They told me that they were from another timeline, and had managed to start this one with a high level of determination.”

“But I had the highest amount of determination,” Frisk protested.

Asriel nodded. “Yes, they did mention you. Chara said that they were no more than a ghost in your timeline, tied to your soul and forced to watch over your endeavours. They were unhappy with you . . . something about not obeying their orders?”

Frisk felt themselves pale. They remembered all those times where Chara would whisper in the back of their mind, urging them to take a knife and slice through the body of a monster. Even though their voice had silenced when the barrier was broken, the human still stalked Frisk’s dreams.

“They wanted me to murder,” Frisk murmured, looking down at their hands. Sans shot them a concerned look. “They haunted my mind, and they would whisper . . . whisper for me to kill all the monsters. I never gave in, not even when they started to plague my dreams. Even when we were up on the surface, I would still have nightmares twice a month.”

“Yes, they were mad at you,” Asriel replied, playing with a blade of grass in front of them. “So, slowly, over the course of nine years, they leeched the determination from your soul. By the end of the nine years, when Chara’s determination finally overtook yours, they reset and made this timeline, so they could finally create a happy ending of their own.”

“so, this human –” Sans waved a hand in Frisk’s direction – “didn’t reset? this timeline is _entirely_ chara’s fault?”

The goat child nodded. Sans’s eye dimmed, his smile growing small and the bags under his eye sockets darkening. The skeleton looked down, looking particularly pained. It was an expression that Frisk could only describe as being _self-loathing_. Just as quickly as it came, Sans’s features turned guarded once more.

“They reset?” Frisk asked, worry resonating in their soul. They licked their dry lips. “If Chara reset, does that mean my timeline is gone?”

Asriel’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. “No, no! I meant that they created another timeline – this timeline! You can still get back to yours!” The goat gave Frisk a reassuring smile, and they let out a sigh of relief, feeling themselves calm.

Sans narrowed his eye sockets, his permanent grin tapering downwards. His oozing eye did not waver from the goat’s face.

“Anyway,” Asriel said, his smile disappearing, “Chara told me that they were back to fulfil our last dream – the dream of killing the humans and breaking the barrier. They asked me to aid them and I was all too happy to help. To me, my sibling had returned, and I was too ecstatic to ask them more questions about their plan.

“They started killing monsters,” Asriel murmured, his voice quiet and oddly devoid of emotion. “They started killing them, and I didn’t care. Chara, with every murdered monster, grew in Level of Violence, getting stronger. I wasn’t _myself_ – I wasn’t _Asriel –_ and I didn’t care that Chara was murdering monsters. Instead, I _laughed._ I even laughed when Chara killed our mother, Toriel. I laughed, and I gratefully absorbed her soul when Chara offered it to me.”

The scene played itself in Frisk’s head, and they found themselves shivering. The thought of Chara killing Toriel – their mother, _Frisk’s_ mother – sent a chill up their spine. But the image of Asriel in the soulless form of Flowey _laughing_ at her _death_. . . and then absorbing her _soul . . ._

Frisk shuddered, their fingers gripping the cyan ribbon in their hands tighter. Asriel’s eyes had a shiny film over them, tears threatening to spill onto his white cheeks. The lights that glowed inside his chest had faded, almost into nothing. Sans, however, stared at the goat; eye sockets narrowed, gaze unwavering, watching with rapt attention.

“So, I absorbed my mother’s soul, not even caring about her death,” Asriel resumed, his voice thick with restrained tears. “Chara and I continued on, and I watched as they murdered more monsters. From the Ruins, all the way to New Home, Chara killed the monsters. So many fell . . . and there was so much dust.

“I watched as Chara killed Asgore, and, once again, I absorbed the soul of one of my parents. Chara retrieved the six human souls and gave them to me too, and I turned back into myself again. I was _Asriel_ again. Standing at the barrier, I realised the weight of what just happened. I realised that all the monsters (apart from Sans and myself; I did not know about Sans at this point) were gone, all because of Chara.”

Frisk leaned forward. “But how did you become yourself again?” they queried. “In my timeline, in order for you to become _Asriel,_ instead you absorbed the souls of every monster, including the human souls. How could you become yourself with just two Boss Monster souls and six human ones?”

“Truthfully, I do not know,” Asriel admitted, shrugging his small shoulders. “I think, when Chara of your timeline came into this one, it created a glitch. What Chara did . . . it usually isn’t possible. This glitch might have made some rules of this timeline to be bent, which also explains why you fell here, too.”

Asriel looked at them both to see if they had any questions; Frisk and Sans both remained silent. “Anyway, Chara revealed that they did not want to break the barrier, or free monsters. They just wanted to bring chaos and destruction. They wanted to follow my old, demented mantra: ‘Kill or be killed’. They wanted to complete their goal with me.”

Frisk brought their legs up to their chest, resting their chin on their knees. The human hugged their legs tightly, clutching the ribbon in one hand for comfort. They were repulsed by Asriel’s tale; deeply disturbed by Chara’s and Flowey’s actions. Sans seemed to share the same emotion as Frisk, fidgeting in his spot; adjusting his sitting position, tugging on his hoodie sleeves, drumming his phalanges against each other. Frisk could hear his bones faintly rattling from under his clothing.

“Chara said that they had no soul,” Asriel said softly. “Their soul was gone, due to their soul splitting when I absorbed their soul ages ago, but they didn’t know that – neither did I, back then. Chara said that, in order to cross the barrier, they needed to absorb a soul of a monster and a soul of a human.”

Asriel caught Frisk’s horrified look and nodded. “Yes. They were going to kill me and absorb the multitude of souls inside me. They said that killing me was the only way for me to contribute . . . the only way for us – Chara and I – to work together. I told Chara – no, I _pleaded_ with them – to reset the timeline and make it right again. I believed that they could change, that they could make things better once more. I didn’t understand why they were doing this; they loved monsters, but they had just killed them. Chara was different, without a soul. They weren’t my sibling anymore.

“Chara killed me and absorbed the souls inside me. When we were one creature, we shared control over our body. But this? They had so much control, I was barely there. I barely _existed._ My soul was gone, after all, myself only existing due to the souls of my parents and the souls of the six fallen humans. Inside Chara, I threatened to disappear. Chara was going to cross the barrier and destroy humanity, and I could not control the body we shared.

“But, with the weak power I had left, I found that I had control over the souls that were previously inside me. I used their power to revolt against Chara’s control, fighting to be in charge.” Inside Asriel’s chest, the orange light grew brighter. “We fought, almost tearing each other into pieces. Eventually, I wrenched away with all my might, and Chara and I separated, myself tearing away the human souls, the souls of my parents and almost all of their determination. Chara was weak – barely a recognisable creature – and so was I. They slunk away, whereas I got to my feet.

“I started walking, not really knowing where I was going. I had determination – both from the determination I stole from Chara and from the human souls – which made me keep going. I was fading, though, fading into nothing. I collapsed here, in Waterfall, and fell into a deep slumber.”

Frisk hugged their legs tighter. “So, that’s why you couldn’t help Sans?” they asked tentatively. “Because you were asleep?”

Asriel dipped his head in a stiff nod. His gaze turned to Sans, and he offered a weak smile. “I would have helped you if I could, Sans,” he assured. “That’s why I’m helping now.”

Sans simply raised a brow bone in response, not uttering a single word in reply. He appeared unimpressed.

“So, I was in this slumber for a long time,” Asriel continued, fur slightly bristling at Sans’s expression. He chose not to acknowledge it. “I was asleep for what felt like a century. But, a couple of weeks ago, someone – Frisk – called out for help.”

He paused, as if struggling to voice his feelings. “It’s . . . it’s hard to explain what it felt like, hearing this call for help. But, the human souls inside of me reacted instantaneously, and suddenly I was awake. The sudden awakening and response of the human souls made the remnant soul traits in the fallen humans’ items more – well – ‘alive’, causing the traces to react as though they were part of a soul like Chara’s were.

“And this, Frisk, is what caused those two apparitions in the Ruins to occur; the one of the Patient human and the one of Chara. And that’s what’s going to happen with all of the fallen humans’ items.”

“You said earlier that the pieces of Chara’s soul would ‘go’ to both of the fallen humans’ corresponding items,” Frisk said. “So why do I only have the ribbon?” The human lessened their hold on the cyan ribbon, holding it in their palm and giving Asriel a quizzical look.

“Well, do you prefer to fight, or show mercy?” Asriel responded.

“Mercy.”

Asriel snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Weapons are used purely for fighting, which is what you prefer not to do. Clothing is more defensive, which is why the part of Chara’s soul for Patience is in the form of a ribbon rather than the toy knife.”

“How do you know?” Frisk asked. They blushed, realising the rudeness of the question, and added: “How do you know that traces of the fallen humans’ traits are in their items, or that they became ‘alive’ when you woke, or that the form Chara’s soul takes is either a weapon or an article of clothing? Or that Chara’s soul split and went to these items?”

Asriel smiled. “Because of _them_.”

With both hands, he reached up and touched the middle of his sternum. From under his sweater, the six colours glowed brighter and started to separate, repelling each other. They burst from Asriel’s chest in the form of six identical shapes: hearts.

_The souls of the fallen humans,_ Frisk thought with wonder, looking at them all with wide brown eyes. The souls glowed their respective colours radiantly, the light from them splashing against the walls of the room and banishing the shadows. They spun slowly around Asriel, who sat calmly, watching them with a faint smile on his face. Sans stared after them cautiously, his phalanges digging into the soft earth.

“The human souls are still alive, in a way,” Asriel pointed out, raising a hand and observing the light that reflected off his white fur. “They don’t have very cohesive thoughts, mostly operating on pure feeling. They know that there’s traces of their presence on their abandoned items; they can _feel_ them, like those traces are an extension of their very beings. When all six of them responded to your call for help, it ‘kick-started’ these traces, causing energy from them to suddenly rush into their items and behave like themselves. They could sense a part of a human soul connected to their items, too, getting an indication of who Chara was and how their soul split.”

Frisk frowned, not understanding. “But the mercy or fighting preference –?”

“When you responded to the trace of Patience’s call for help, you found that both them and the part of Chara’s soul were fighting, right?” Asriel interjected, his gaze turning to the cyan soul. “And you helped them resolve their dispute? That was putting that part of Chara’s soul at ease with the trait of Patience. They ‘combined’ afterwards to form that ribbon, too?”

Frisk nodded.

“You resolved their fight peacefully – as in you didn’t fight them. You had Chara’s knife in one moment, but you didn’t use it. You used mercy, so, when the part of Chara’s soul made peace with Patience, they formed that cyan ribbon due to your influence.”

“Oh . . .” said Frisk, looking down at the ribbon in their hands.

“so why did you send the human to respond for calls of help, then?” Sans asked out of his large period of silence.

“That’s a part of my plan,” Asriel said, causing both Frisk and Sans to jolt to attention. The goat retracted his hand, setting it back down in his lap.

“Chara – at this moment – doesn’t have a soul. Their soul split into six and are now with the traces of the soul traits. But, if we collect all of Chara’s soul pieces and brought them together, they would form their whole soul again.” Asriel demonstrated this by forming a heart with his fingers. “Chara acted differently without their soul. If we gave it back to them, it might make Chara better again. They might restore the timeline and set everything back to normal.”

“i'm hearing a lot of ‘might’s here,” Sans commented dryly.

Frisk glanced at him. “It’s the only plan we have.” The cyan ribbon vibrated more intensely in their hand, and they reached up to tie it back into their hair. “We already have one part of Chara’s soul, all we need to do is find the other five. Besides, we already know where Chara is, so getting their soul back to them will be easy.”

“what if chara resets or goes back to a save point?”

“They won’t,” Asriel assured. “When I was inside them at the barrier, and we were fighting, Chara was mad, but they were also amused. They didn’t want to reset or go back to a save point. They wanted to see this timeline through, because they found it entertaining.”

That didn’t sound that reassuring to Frisk, but beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes.

“are you both assuming that giving chara back their soul will make them ‘good’ again?” Sans asked incredulously. “must i remind you that they were a genocidal maniac even when they _did_ have their soul.”

The cyan soul hovering around Asriel glowed brighter. The goat closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I’ll be there when you give their soul back. That way, after Chara gets their soul again, I can talk them down.” He opened his eyes. His look was pleading. “Chara and I were really close. Even still, I care about them. We’re siblings and we love each other. You _must_ trust me that this will work.”

Frisk gave Asriel a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll find all those soul pieces.” The human looked at Sans, expecting a reassurance from him, but all he provided was a grunt.

Asriel beamed brightly. “Thank you.”

The human souls were pulled back into Asriel’s chest, the colours glowing through his sweater. Both Sans and Frisk took this as their leave, and rose to their feet. Frisk scooped up their backpack and swung it on, tightening the straps. All the information they received from Asriel was a lot to take in, and their mind was reeling with the intensity of it. It also made them realise how tired they were, their legs feeling like jelly and their eyes as heavy as sandbags. It must have been the middle of the night by now.

“one more thing,” Sans said, holding up a finger and looking towards Asriel, “when you said that alphys brought you back as ‘someone not yourself’, what did you mean?”

Frisk swallowed hard, looking down at their shoes. Asriel fidgeted, looking uncomfortable, but also aware that he could not dodge the question.

“W-well . . . she brought me back in the form of a g-golden flower . . .” Asriel said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Sans’s eye sockets narrowed, his brow bones furrowing. “a golden flower . . .?”

Asriel nodded, though not enthusiastically. “A flower that went by the name of . . . Flowey.”

Sans’s faint smile twisted into a scowl. His hands balled into fists at his side. He was glaring at Asriel with a fierce intensity, his single eye glowing like a miniature sun.

“y o u,” fumed Sans, angry sparks of blue jolting from inside his fists. The shadows washed his form in a dark painting, causing his features to appear more sinister; that one eye glowing and increasing its flow of magic in his anger.

Panic struck Frisk’s soul, and they turned to the skeleton with wide eyes. “Sans,” they began, reaching out a splayed hand to placate him, as though he was a distressed animal. “Just hold on –”

A loud _pop_ interrupted them; a gasterblaster suddenly hovering over Sans’s shoulder, its eye sockets pinned onto Asriel. Frisk backed away instinctively. Its jaws clacked its rows of teeth, a dangerous growl emanating from the back of its non-existent throat. Asriel raised his hands imploringly, his expression one of complicated emotion.

“ _’just hold on_ ’?” Sans repeated, turning his skull to look at Frisk in disbelief. “that _flowey_ was a toxic piece of waste! over and over he ruined timelines, starting and stopping them, twisting them in any way his thorny little vines can! so many timelines _ruined_ because of him! and now we learn that he’s been helping the murderer of our friends, even having some of their very _souls_ in his body! and he’s _sitting right here._ ” Sans’s eye flicked back to the goat, and the gasterblaster let out a hiss.

“not to mention,” Sans added, glaring at Asriel, “you also manipulated my brother. you complimented him and faked being his friend for who-knows-what. you got him to rely on you – to trust you – even though you didn’t give a _damn_ about him. all you care about is power. i don’t care if you’re the king’s son now; what you did as that flower is inexcusable.”

Asriel stiffened when Sans’s eye blazed, the gasterblaster above him parting its jaws in one fluid motion. Energy was building up at the back of its giant maw, the heat from it drying the ground beneath. Frisk shook their head and grabbed Sans’s arm.

“No, Sans, Asriel isn’t Flowey anymore!” Frisk pleaded, staring at the skeleton beseechingly. Sans shook his head and batted their hand away.

“human, don’t deny it, he’s hurt you too, hasn’t he?” Sans spared a glance at the human. “the flowey in your timeline hurt you; i can see it in your eyes. and now, he wants us to follow his plan blindly rather than doing it himself? there's something else going on here and i won’t stand for it.”

“Sans,” Asriel proclaimed, concern marring his features, “I’m being completely—”

“i don’t want to hear a single word from you, goat boy,” Sans snapped, interrupting Asriel’s speech. The skeleton glared down at him, his glowing eye casting wicked shadows over his skull. “j u d g e m e n t  h a s  b e e n  p a s s e d.”

Sans extended his left hand – covered in flickering blue. The gasterblaster let out a roar, the energy it was generating on the brink of forming a beam, and Frisk reacted to his sudden hostility on instinct.

They leapt in front of Asriel, raising their arms and forming a ‘t’ shape to protect the goat.

The skeleton noticed the human in half a second, and quickly swept his arm down; the gasterblaster was suddenly wrenched upwards, and the laser blasted into the wall instead.

“human, what are you doing?” Sans questioned, anger causing the liquid from his left eye socket to gush. “get out of the way!”

“You can’t kill him, Sans,” Frisk said plainly, stubbornly staying in front of Asriel protectively. The goat was shocked, looking at Sans and Frisk’s back repeatedly in surprise.

“but he’s done so much bad!”

“Do you think that even the worst person can change?” Frisk whispered. They had quoted something that they could remember Sans asking them many years ago, after the incident when Frisk was thirteen. It was after the day the skeleton had nearly speared them with bones after Frisk, concerned, entered his bedroom due to the blue flashes under his door. He had been quiet that entire day, his white eye-lights not meeting Frisk’s eyes, instead staying pinned to the floor.

_do you think that even the worst person can change?_ Sans had said, purposely avoiding their gaze. _that everyone can be a good person, if they just try?_

To that, Frisk had had only one answer: _Yes._

Sans sucked in a deep breath, his eye sockets widening. The stream of magic that streaked down his face halted, the drips remaining stationary on the curved bone. He was incredibly still, like he had suddenly become a statue.

“you really trust him?” Sans whispered, his voice quiet and raspy.

Frisk nodded once.

With a swipe of his hand, the gasterblaster dematerialised, dissipating into wisps. Frisk let out a deep exhale, feeling relieved.

“fine,” Sans muttered, looking away from them. “it’s time to go, anyway.” The skeleton plunged his hands into his hoodie pockets and started moving towards the exit, turning away so they couldn’t see his expression. “it’s way past midnight, so we gotta go back to snowdin.”

Frisk stepped away from Asriel, giving him a smile. The goat weakly smiled back, giving them a little wave as the human made their way towards Sans.

“Do you want to come with us, Asriel?” Frisk asked. They were oblivious to Sans’s scathing look at Asriel, warning him not to follow them.

Asriel caught Sans’s expression and laughed hesitantly, shaking his head. “N-no, I’m fine here!” His voice was slightly shrill, the souls glowing in his chest dimming. To Frisk’s concerned look they shot him, he shook his head with more conviction. “I’m fine here, really! It’s probably best. We can keep in contact in your dreams.”

Sans huffed in frustration. “c’mon ki—human.” He started walking, not looking back and either Frisk or Asriel.

As Frisk was following him, they realised that Sans had almost called them ‘kid’, just like the Sans of their timeline would affectionately call them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for that info dump! Hopefully it didn't kill you guys.
> 
> Also, nearly 100 kudos?! Over 1700 hits?! You guys are unbelievable! Thank you guys so much! I know I say this in like every chapter, but I am honestly so appreciative of you guys and I'm so grateful that you people read this fanfiction. :D
> 
> And another thing, I don't think that Sans likes Asriel very much. It's almost like he's . . . suspicious of him, especially one thing in particular. Has Sans detected . . . a lie?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. That Everyone Can Be a Good Person, if They Just Try . . .?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans reflects over the exchange with Asriel, along with deciding a new, secret, plan of action.

Sans didn’t trust Asriel.

He had been walking with the human back to Snowdin, a torrent of thoughts battering about in the inside of his skull. Sans had been aware that he was quiet, but the human didn’t attempt to start a conversation. Waterfall was darker than usual; night having descended upon them swiftly, its black fingers stretching across the roof of the Underground, the glowing stones above twinkling dimly in its clutches. All light seemed to be almost completely swallowed by the darkness. The pair had walked in silence for a few minutes – walking across Onion-san’s old habitat – when the skeleton noticed the human’s sluggish, exhausted footsteps from behind him and the frequent yawns.

Now, Sans continued to walk to Snowdin, the human – their soul separate from their chest and glowing blue – asleep on a conjured gasterblaster. It _was_ technically the middle of the night, after all. Way past their curfew of being in the toolshed at sunset. So, Sans wasn’t surprised when they almost immediately fell asleep on the giant, hovering skull.

The gasterblaster trailed after the skeleton, humming softly. Usually, the sound would have been somewhat soothing, but it did nothing to quell the writhing mass of thoughts that circulated in Sans’s head.

He and the human had met with Asriel, the ‘mystery person’ that advised them to find the pieces of Chara’s soul. The goat wished to form Chara’s full soul again and give it to them, in the hopes that it would make them come to their senses and reset the timeline.

In Sans’s eye sockets, it was a very bad, very _flawed,_ plan.

To Sans, it sounded like Asriel was _assuming_ that Chara’s lack of a soul made them into a genocidal lunatic. The skeleton had heard the story about Chara and Asriel before, just as every monster in the Underground had. Back then, the human had tried to slaughter an entire town of humans while sharing a body with Asriel. Now, Chara wanted to murder both humans _and_ monsters, having already nearly killed every monster in the Underground. Comparing Chara with a soul and without one, the skeleton couldn’t see that much difference in personality.

Sans glared down at the glowing blue water that lapped against the path, the liquid running alongside the black soil, seeking to brush against the tufts of blue grass. His reflection was displayed to him in the cerulean depths; though murky, Sans could see his single, glowing eye with clarity. His left eye socket burned the more he processed the new information, his magic flowing from it in a steady stream.

He scowled and looked away, his hands tightening into fists inside his hoodie pockets.

 _why is that goat even making the human and i find the soul pieces of that murderer?_ Sans thought bitterly, his gaze downwards, trying to ignoring the blurring in his vision due to his eye. _why could_ he _do it instead, if he cares so much? why do_ we _have to scamper around like his servants, going along with his stupid plan without question?_

Asriel’s plan was relying on many ‘might’s and ‘maybe’s, which only deepened Sans’s contempt. The plan wasn’t concrete, and so many things could go wrong. Sans thought that even bursting into the True Laboratory and killing Chara sounded like a better plan than Asriel’s. As much as the skeleton would love to go through with that plan, the human had agreed to Asriel’s one, which also made him agree to it too. Even though Sans was going to (reluctantly) follow Asriel’s plan, it didn’t mean that he was particularly happy about it.

Sans noticed the swaths of tall grass ahead and glanced over his shoulder at the human, who was still dozing contently on his gasterblaster. With one hand, glowing blue, he directed the skull so it rose above the reach of the grass. It followed him as he weaved his way through, the wet plant matter sticking to his clothes and brushing against his skull. Mud clung to the soles of his pink slippers. As Sans pushed his way to the other side – standing on a path made of wooden planks rather than soil – he let the gasterblaster descend so it hovered a metre above the ground once more. The human did not stir at the movement, still curled up in a ball and snoring quietly.

Sans continued walking, his footsteps sounding softly on the wooden boards of the path. Water underneath reflected the shining stones on the roof, faint, twinkling lights looking up at him as he walked. Feeble lights glowing in oppressive darkness. They reminded the skeleton of the lights glowing in Asriel’s chest; Sans’s frown deepened.

 _that goat is up to something_ , thought Sans, manoeuvring around the twists and turns of the wooden path, the gasterblaster following in his wake.

Asriel helped Chara, back when he was Flowey. He laughed as that twisted, demented human killed monsters, not even caring, instead eagerly absorbing some of their souls. But before that, Flowey messed with the timelines, causing them to stop and start, warp and bend, all due to his constant tampering. He manipulated and groomed Papyrus, getting the younger skeleton to trust him as a friend. Flowey would compliment Papyrus and shower him with praise. Sans was mad about the timelines being ruined, yes, but manipulating his brother was _unacceptable_.

However, with the use of the six human souls and the souls of two boss monsters, Flowey was now Asriel. The soulless flower was now the compassionate child of Asgore and the estranged queen. All his past crimes as Flowey should be forgiven, according to the human.

But, that is not true for Sans. His earlier actions as the flower hang over him in a dark cloud which it seems only Sans cares to see; a constant reminder of Asriel’s wrongdoings. The human argued that Asriel and Flowey are not the same person, and that may be true, but his previous behaviour should not be easily forgiven. What Asriel did as Flowey is inexcusable. Not having a soul is not a valid excuse, in Sans’s viewpoint. Yes, he didn’t have a soul, but he still had a choice – a choice whether or not to use his powers of determination for good.

He made his choice, and now Sans hates him for it.

Not to mention, inside Asriel are the souls of two monsters and six humans. Inside the goat are souls, souls that have no business being inside him. The human souls were already present in the Underground, but the souls of Toriel and Asgore were not. The six human souls may be content to aid Asriel, but can that be said for the monster souls? He had the opportunity to save them from Chara’s knife, but instead chose to laugh at their demise.  How can Asriel carry the souls of the people he failed to save? And use said souls for his own volition, when they deserve rest?

Sans’s left socket burned, his magic leaking profusely. He sighed as he dabbed his hoodie sleeve over his eye socket, trying to suppress his anger. The magic soaked into his sleeve, tainting it cyan and yellow in ugly, glowing swirls. The skeleton grumbled in annoyance and stormed on, his shoulders hunched and his footsteps plodding loudly on the wooden planks.

He reached the break in the path, where a large body of water separated him from his destination. Sans called the gasterblaster over, lowering it so it hovering over the water. The skeleton climbed on carefully, making sure to give enough space to the sleeping human. The gasterblaster then set off, its underside only barely skimming the water.

As Sans dismounted the giant skull and set his slippers down on the other side, he heard faint whispering, like a conversation being uttered in a hushed tone. The skeleton’s spine immediately straightened, his bones growing still in caution. The whispering continued, and so he walked on, his steps light yet swift. The gasterblaster followed, its whirring quietening in response to Sans’s alertness.

He walked forward to the wishing room, and he immediately relaxed when he found the source of the whispering. The five echo flowers in the room were repeating a few sentences from his earlier conversation with the human:

_What’s your favourite colour?_

_why?_

_Why what?_

_why would you ask that? what’s the point in asking that?_

_To get your mind off . . . well . . . you know. I thought a conversation might help._

The skeleton realised suddenly that Waterfall was – in the most part – not accentuated by the screams of dying monsters. The cries of agony that were once repeated by the echo flowers had been muffled, stifled by the new echoing sounds of Sans’s and the human’s earlier conversations. Together with the sound of the rushing water, the snippets of conversation quelled the screaming, almost returning Waterfall’s ambience to normal.

The human knew how uncomfortable the cries and yells of the fallen monsters made Sans. So, they had talked to him, causing the echo flowers to echo _their_ voices instead of the dying monsters’. They had, once again, bared their caring side to Sans, even without him specifically asking for it. Even after how cruel he was to them.

Sans felt a twinge of gratefulness, and looked over his shoulder at the sleeping human. They had shifted in their sleep, their body curled and facing him. Their arms were wrapped around their blue backpack, their face pressed against it as though it was a source of personal comfort. The skeleton couldn’t help but crack a small grin.

He set off walking again, leaving the wishing room and the sound of their voices.

The human was strange, always wanting to help Sans, even though he did not appreciate it. He was cold towards them, not engaging in conversation with them or giving them any sign of friendliness. He made them sleep in his brother’s old, damaged toolshed and stalked them while they were wandering about in the day. Even still, the human had showed Sans kindness. Perhaps they occasionally treated him with small amounts of fear and frustration, but the majority of their behaviour towards him was kindness.

A couple of weeks ago, Sans viewed his callous and threatening behaviour towards them to be justified. He had reasoned that they had created this timeline by resetting theirs, which put them on equal grounds with Chara. However, with the new knowledge that the human in fact _did not_ start this timeline . . .

Chara was the first one to state that they were the one to create this timeline. Back in the True Laboratory, they had proclaimed this fact of their reset, using it to taunt the human. _Terribly sorry to take away your perfect life up on the surface,_ Chara had said mockingly, _but, well . . . this is the better ending._

This information did not strike Sans as quickly as it did to the human. He had been caught up in rage, fury arcing though his bones and his eye practically boiling in his socket. When it finally registered, shock had numbed the hot wrath flowing through him, and he made the choice to keep the human safely out of the fight. Sans had been surprised, almost not believing that they were not involved. However, Chara causing this timeline was confirmed by Asriel, and the skeleton had felt the deep stab of self-loathing and guilt.

Hearing those words had weighed heavily on the skeleton, like a great force pressing against his ribcage. Sans – in that moment – had a flash of his old self; the skeleton he was before Chara fell into the Underground. He felt an intense feeling of guilt and self-disgust. Sans had been treating a human child, a _kid_ , horribly for _no reason._

 _wow . . . that’s, uh, pretty disgusting, don’t you think?_  His past self had whispered in the back of his skull. Sans had agreed with him.

This human had done nothing wrong. They had been forcefully plucked from their timeline up on the surface with their friends into this one, where their friends were dead. They had been treated with hate and disdain and anger from Sans, who had believed them to be the cause of the timeline. After a while, they would have thought that they _did_ reset, causing them to feel guilt, shame and disgust. They would have possibly thought that they _deserved_ the horrible treatment that Sans was giving them. Then, they had found out that they weren’t the cause of the timeline at all, instead being caused by a spectre who plagued their mind with nightmares of murder. They had discovered that Sans had been punishing them for _doing nothing._ All while this was occurring, they still treated Sans kindly – offering him food, talking to him – without rancour or anger.

Sans felt a whole new manner of repulsive.

He raised the gasterblaster over another patch of tall grass, shouldering through it roughly, battering the long blades out of his path. The skeleton continued to walk through towards Snowdin, head down, attempting to cease his destructive thoughts. His magic oozed out of his eye, dripping onto the front of his shirt and streaking along his skull. Sans’s eye socket burned, as though hot nails were slowly drilled into his single eye. He clenched his teeth at the pain, trying to ignore the feeling.

 _you deserve this,_ a stray thought murmured in the back of his skull. _all your guilt, all your pain . . . you deserve it all._

The soft, spongey earth of Waterfall gave way to the frozen ground of Snowdin, the fallen snow forming a hardened blanket on the soil. The darkness lightened slightly as the skeleton and the gasterblaster entered, the absence of dark walls allowing whispers of light to spread in the area. Sans breathed deeply. The air was fresher in Snowdin. Waterfall felt too oppressive, its walls squeezing the life out of all inhabitants like a vice. The earth didn’t sink underfoot.

Sans reached the toolshed, the entirety of the town dark due to night’s heavy touch. Despite the dim light, Sans could see without a problem. He fished out the toolshed’s keys from his shorts and unlocked the door, the keys jangling with the movement.

As he swung open the door, he directed the gasterblaster inside with a steady, skeletal hand. The giant skull obeyed his wishes, humming softly as its teeth whirred in place. Sans entered after it, his steps creaking the wooden floor. His single eye scanned the interior, his hand glowing blue to move the gasterblaster. There was a small, makeshift bed made of numerous blankets in the centre, the dog bed placed in such a way to suggest that it was being used as a pillow. The dirt on the floor had been swept into the corner, and the holes in the walls had been patched up with hanging blankets, no doubt to stop drafts. Strewn around the bed were pieces of paper, all written on with pencil. Sans’s soul clenched painfully in his ribcage when he spotted one labelled: _Ways to Help Sans._

Sans stooped down to take a closer look, his cyan and yellow eye raking across its surface. It only had a single sentence written on it, the words careful and precise.

“‘ _become his friend and try to make him happier_ ’, huh?” Sans read aloud, scratching the back of his skull. He looked at the human, who was still sleeping soundly. “welp, i guess i have been makin’ that a bit difficult.”

Sans manoeuvred the gasterblaster to the bed, landing it beside the stack of blankets. With one hand, he used his magic to lift the human off the skull, while the other swept sideways, causing the gasterblaster to dematerialise. The human didn’t stir as their blue backpack fell to the floor. Carefully, he peeled back a few blankets and lowered the human into the bed, his gaze unwavering and his magic gentle. Their head rested softly on the dog bed, the cyan ribbon still tied in their hair.

Knowing that the ribbon was housing a piece of Chara's soul -- the human who killed everyone he loved -- made the temptation Sans had to take it immediately disappear. The soothing feeling he once had when gazing upon it dissipated likewise. It was nothing but a remnant of that murderer, now. 

The skeleton withdrew the blue from their soul, causing the overriding colour to leech away, displaying the glowing crimson beneath. The human’s soul descended back into their chest; they let out a sigh, their expression changing to a sleepy look of relief.

Sans put his hands in his hoodie’s pockets and turned to walk away. He stopped himself suddenly before he could take a step towards the exit. The skeleton thought for a moment, his phalanges picking at his metacarpals in his pockets.

He let out an exasperated breath and turned back towards the human, walking closer to their sleeping form. With a stable hand, he slowly laid the blankets over them, his touch light. He tucked the human in slightly; carefully enough so they would not wake. The skeleton looked down at them, their hair haphazard and face grimy.

“i think it’s gonna be cold tonight, so – here.” Sans shouldered off his blue hoodie, gripping it with two hands and bringing it closer to the human. He paused, checked that the stains of his magic were dry, and promptly draped the hoodie over the human. The clothing would serve as a better protection against the cold.

The human shifted, and Sans froze in response, his bones turning to concrete. They remained asleep, however, and snuggled closer into the bed, pulling the blankets and his hoodie more securely over themselves. The skeleton smiled in response.

 _what can i do to make it up to you, human?_ Sans thought, retreating a few steps. Placing them in bed and giving them his hoodie wasn’t a fair enough repayment for what he did to them. His cold behaviour and cruelty could not be righted by this simple action. The human deserved to be repaid; they deserved their justice. 

They were continually nice to him, even when he did not repay the favour. The human wanted to be friends with Sans, and when were they ever unjust to him? They sincerely wanted to help him; that much was obvious. The most Sans could do was try.

 _Do you believe that even the worst person can change?_ They had said _. That everyone can be a good person, if they just try?_

It was the question he had asked Chara, back in the Judgement Hall. He didn't ask how the human knew about it, but it had caused him to mentally freeze as it was asked to him. Sans viewed himself as the worst person even then. But he can change; he can be a good person to this human, if he tried. And he would; he owed it to them.

Asriel played on Sans’s mind, then, tugging at his thoughts like a shadow. Something the goat had said did not make sense to Sans. It made him edgy, wary. It was one of the main reasons why he did not trust Asriel. He let the scene replay in his skull.

 _If Chara reset, does that mean my timeline is gone?_ Frisk had said, worry as evident in their voice as the worry on their face.

 _No, no!_ Asriel had replied, shaking his head quickly. _I meant that they created another timeline – this timeline! You can still get back to yours!_

Chara had reset the human’s timeline, that much was proven by the murderer themselves _and_ by Asriel. If a timeline has reset, surely one cannot go back to it? When a timeline is reset, it is completely gone, Sans assumed. With all his history in science, he had never heard of an instance where someone has gone into a timeline that had been resetted.

Asriel could be lying, but he could be correct, too. There was a glitch in this timeline, after all, meaning some rules can be bent, like the human falling into this timeline. This glitch _could_ allow them to also go back. 

 _well, there’s only one way to tell if that is possible,_ Sans thought, turning away from the sleeping human and walking towards the door. A plan formed in his skull, a plan in which he could make it up to the human.

_i have to fix what was broken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh heh.
> 
> What is Sans up to?
> 
> Also, over 1900 hits, over 100 kudos and over 100 comments: wow! Like holy crap guys. I'll try to get you guys a chapter on Christmas; I know roughly where the next chapter is going.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	17. Crab Apples in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk wakes up at midday and reflects over their meeting with Asriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I tried to complete this yesterday on Christmas, but I was caught up in family stuff.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Frisk opened their eyes, blinking quickly to dispel the remnants of sleep. They had had no dreams of Asriel, but the human wasn’t surprised. Both them and the goat needed to think over their meeting first.

They adjusted their position and found themselves mildly surprised that they were in the toolshed back in Snowdin. They were lying in the makeshift bed made from thin, discovered blankets. Frisk could remember falling asleep on a gasterblaster that Sans had conjured, shortly after meeting Asriel in Waterfall. The skeleton must have moved them here rather than wake them.

They ran a hand through their hair, their fingers instinctively threading through the tangled locks to grasp the cyan ribbon. It vibrated weakly at their touch, the soft light from it growing slightly brighter. Frisk smiled. Their now-wakeful mind started to process their meeting with Asriel, previously unable to due to their exhaustion.

 _The person in my dreams was Asriel Dreemurr, son of Toriel and Asgore, sibling of Chara,_ Frisk recalled, shifting onto their back. _Inside him is the six human souls, along with the souls of his parents. These souls are the only reason that he is alive._

The human extracted the ribbon from their hair and held it in their fist. Patience was flowing from it, aiding the human in processing the new information. _The cyan ribbon is a manifestation of a piece of Chara’s soul, representing the trait of Patience. Asriel wants Sans and I to find the six pieces of Chara’s soul. With the soul pieces formed into a whole, the goat hopes that his sibling will see the wrongness in their ways, and restore this timeline._

“But, how will I get back to my timeline?” Frisk wondered aloud. They looked at the ribbon in their hand for guidance, but received none; its colour faded to a small degree.

Asriel had told Sans and Frisk the plan to restore this timeline, but did not go into detail about how Frisk could return to theirs. Even though Chara had supposedly reset their timeline, Asriel said that Frisk could go back. They weren’t entirely sure how that was possible.

 _Maybe, I can return to my timeline with the help of the glitch?_ Frisk reasoned. Asriel had mentioned a glitch in the timeline, caused when Chara arrived in this timeline. Asriel figured that the glitch would enable some rules of the timeline to be bent, which explains how Frisk fell into this Underground. The same glitch may be able to take them back. The goat child _had_ said that they could return to their timeline, after all.

However, before they can do that, they must help this timeline and Sans first.

The human tied the ribbon in their hair, using their fingers to comb through the knots beforehand. They pushed themselves into a sitting position, about to rise, when their eyes caught something blue resting on top of their blankets. Frisk frowned and grasped it with both hands, raising the blue object. It appeared to be an article of clothing, of some kind. The majority of it was blue, with some stains of cyan and yellow. It had a grey hood with several holes and burn marks tainting the garment.

Frisk drew their head back in surprise. It was Sans’s hoodie.

 _Sans . . . gave me this . . .?_ thought Frisk, lowering the hoodie so it rested on their lap. Frisk could feel its weight through the blankets, the warmth from it enveloping their legs. It would have been cold during the night, which would have caused Frisk to wake up several times, shivering intensely, trying to pull the thin blankets more around their body. However, the human did not wake once, instead sleeping through the freezing darkness smothered in comfortable heat. Frisk smiled; they had Sans to thank for their better sleep, as well with his graciousness.

The skeleton had been originally cold and aloof around Frisk, threatening them every chance he got and expressing no kindness. Frisk had not blamed him; he had gone through so much pain. However, after the events of the True Laboratory with Chara, Sans was becoming slowly more comfortable with them – talking to them without resentment, accepting their proffered food and even laughing genuinely. Now, he had returned Frisk to their bed without waking them, as well with giving them his hoodie to stave off the cold.

Their brown eyes flicked to a piece of paper next to them, labelled _Ways to Help Sans._

“’ _Become his friend and try to make him happier’_ ,” Frisk read aloud, the cyan ribbon glowing slightly brighter in their hair. They grinned, pulling Sans’s hoodie closer to their chest. It smelt like old ketchup (if there was any more ketchup in the Underground, Frisk had not found it), hotdog water and burnt pine. The smell was oddly comforting. “We’re getting there.”

The human reached over and snagged the blue backpack, opening its single pocket. The lunchbox was now devoid of food, the human having eaten all it provided. After taking an experimental sip of their drink bottle, they found it was half-full. The remainder of the bag’s space was taken up by spare clothing. They scowled at the bag’s contents. Frisk’s hunger began to creep up on them.

Frisk rose to their feet, swiftly closing the backpack and swinging it onto their back. They scooped Sans’s hoodie into their arms just as they heard the door of the toolshed click. The door opened, the light from Snowdin spilling into the small wooden shed. Sans stood in the doorway, his single eye immediately finding Frisk. He was wearing a heavily stained white shirt, black shorts and his trademark slippers. His arms were tainted as his clothing were, scores of cyan and yellow twisting on the bone, more concentrated on the radius and ulna. Sans seemed unsure where to put his hands; they hung rather limply at his sides.

“c’mon, human,” Sans said, tilting his head. Frisk remembered how he had nearly called them ‘kid’ the night before, and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at their lips.

They walked towards the door, and Sans stepped aside so they could exit. It was lightly snowing in Snowdin, weak showers of sparse snowflakes descending from wispy clouds. Nevertheless, the cold was biting; Frisk flicked their coat’s collar up to protect their neck. However, despite the chill, the human noticed that it was warmer than it typically was in Snowdin. Darkness did not pull at the edges of the ceiling, which would have betrayed early morning. Instead, the light from the stones above burned bright through the clouds.

Frisk felt themselves frown slightly. The skeleton was turning away to lock the toolshed when they finally spoke up.

“Sans?”

“mm?” replied Sans, sliding the key into the lock. He twisted it until it clicked.

“Is it . . . is it the middle of the day?” Frisk asked tentatively. As established by Sans weeks ago, the human was to be locked into the toolshed at sunset, only to be let out at sunrise. Despite this rule, it appeared to be around midday in Snowdin. Frisk could remember another rule Sans had about staying in Snowdin, but that rule had been broken three times. As the skeleton had been with them for two of those times, the human considered the specific rule to no longer stand.

Sans turned to them as he put his keys in the pockets of his shorts. He watched them calmly, paying no mind to the flakes of snow that were falling on top of his skull. “it’s pretty much around lunchtime.”

“B-but—”

“hey, don’t worry about it,” he interjected, waving a hand in a nonchalant manner. “we arrived back here well past midnight. i figured that, if i got you up at sunrise like usual, you wouldn’t have gotten many hours of sleep. you were also exhausted . . . y’know, after the whole ‘chara and asriel’ business. so, i let you sleep in later.”

Frisk blinked in surprise, a dumbfounded expression on their face. Gratitude took their soul and they smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Sans shrugged. “it was nothing. sleep is important for one’s health, after all.” Judging by the dark lines and heavy bags under his eye sockets, he didn’t get enough sleep. Frisk was about to ask about his sleeping habits when they realised that Sans would avoid sleeping due to nightmares. After all that had happened in this timeline – his friends dying, the screams of monsters echoing around the Underground, failing to avenge his fallen monsters – his night terrors would have a bountiful reservoir of material to plague him with. Sans would lie in bed, tired and exhausted, only to have the horrors of his memories flash before him whenever he closed his eye sockets.

Frisk looked down, eager to avoid that strain of thought. Their gaze fell on Sans’s hoodie in their arms and they looked back up at the skeleton. “And, you gave me your hoodie?”

Sans made a noncommittal jerk of his head, like a nod of acknowledgement. “yeah. it was cold last night.” His voice sounded casual – as though the action of giving Frisk his hoodie was an act of indifference – though his single glowing eye was trained on them with intensity. It was like he was trying to gauge their feelings, his very gaze seeking to burn a hole into their brain and read them like a book.

“Well, because of you, I didn’t feel it,” Frisk replied, looking down at the hoodie again. Their arms were warm due to its heavy weight and insulation. It was obviously lined with something, a substance to trap and provide heat. “Again, thank you.”

“again, no problem.”

“Would you like it back?” They held it with their hands and offered it to Sans.

The skeleton shook his skull. “no, it’s fine.” His eye flicked to the proffered hoodie, resting on it for a few seconds before returning to Frisk. “you can keep it.”

“Are you sure?” Frisk asked, sounding uncertain. The blue hoodie was his favourite, if reasoning by how Sans acted towards it in their timeline. With every outfit he wore – whether it be a formal occasion or otherwise – he always threw the hoodie on top of it. Frisk was sure that he even slept with it. To the human, not seeing Sans in the hoodie was a strange and abnormal thing.

“i'm positive.”

Frisk looked over the skeleton and cracked a small smile. “But, without the pockets, you look unsure what to do with your hands.”

Sans’s eye sockets blinked once. He looked down at his hands at his sides and his permanent grin turned genuine. Frisk knew that he bared a real smile, as they could see the humour in his glowing eye. The skeleton slowly slipped his hands into the pockets of his shorts, his gaze fixing back onto Frisk as he did so, one brow bone raised.

“well, luckily, these shorts have pockets,” Sans stated, his tone alight with humour. Frisk’s smile grew wider at Sans’s willingness to joke.

“But, I suppose it isn’t the same?”

Sans shook his head in a sad, slightly-exaggerated, way. “i can make do. besides, there’s probably spare hoodies around here somewhere.”

Suddenly, the mirth in his expression dropped, the authentic smile disappearing. His feelings were hidden again, and his face had returned to a passive, inexpressive mask. His sudden seriousness made Frisk jump in their skin.

“speaking of which, i have something i have to go do,” Sans said, his voice serious. The playfulness that his voice previously held had all but dissipated, much like a candle flame blowing out in the wind. Even though it was light in Snowdin, his visage appeared to be dark. “what are you going to be doing while i'm gone?”

 _‘Gone’? Where was Sans going? And what was he doing?_ Frisk thought inquisitively. With all their curiosity regarding the matter, they knew not to ask. Instead, they said: “Probably going to go look for another piece of Chara’s soul.”

Sans stared at them, not a single facial feature twitching. His glowing eye was pinned on them, his smile small, closer to a sour grimace than a grin. His expression was unreadable; a book with its pages glued shut, exposing no secrets. Frisk could feel sweat bead on the side of their face in response to his constant gazing. However, no matter how hard they tried, they could not pull their brown eyes away from his single cyan and yellow one.

After several long, arduous moments, Sans blinked his eye sockets.

“right,” said Sans. He turned and, without another word, walked off deeper into Snowdin Town. Frisk looked after his retreating figure, their eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but did not follow him.

 

* * *

 

 

Several hours later – during the late afternoon – Frisk was investigating abandoned houses for more food and supplies. One house had gleaned a few crab apples and two cinnamon bunnies, while another only yielded crossword puzzles. The human had eaten one crab apple to sate their hunger, and placed the remaining food into their lunchbox. They had filled up their drink bottle with fresh water and sat leaning against one house, sipping it gingerly, trying to retreat into the meagre warmth of their coat. The snowfall had grown significantly heavier.

The human had not seen Sans.

Now, Frisk grunted as they tried to pull a door open, the wood creaking under the strain. The door did not budge from its position, staying stubbornly closed, no matter how hard they tugged on the doorknob. They sighed and slumped in the fresh snow, leaning their back against the door. Their fingers were numb from the cold of Snowdin; they pulled their sleeves over their hands to warm them. Puffs of air left their mouth in white, swept away by the wind. Goosebumps dotted their skin from under the meek protection of their winter jacket.

Frisk let out a shaky breath and slung their backpack from their shoulders. They extracted Sans’s hoodie and draped it over them, hoping that it would shield them from the jagged cold. Warmth immediately cradled their body, and Frisk sighed in contentment, the unresponsiveness of their limbs washing away. It was like they were sitting by a fire, the tongues of flame licking the air, the heat straying away the cold.

They – once again – felt a surge of gratitude towards the skeleton.

With their body warming, Frisk was reminded of the pair’s interaction with Asriel, more specifically, Sans’s reaction to it. They adjusted their coat’s hood more securely over their head and frowned. The skeleton – to put it simply – did not trust the goat child. Most of Sans’s anger towards him came from the skeleton’s feelings about Flowey, which Frisk found unfair.

 _that flowey was a toxic piece of waste!_ Sans had said, his eye on Frisk imploringly. _over and over he ruined timelines, starting and stopping them, twisting them in any way his thorny little vines can! so many timelines ruined because of him!_

Flowey and Asriel were two different people, even if Sans could not see that. To him, the flower and the goat were the same. Flowey was a soulless creature, incapable of compassion and kindness. Asriel was the son of Toriel and Asgore, and was caring and loving, if not a bit sensitive. The two were different people entirely, yet Sans had placed all of Flowey’s crimes onto Asriel, and did not listen to Frisk’s pleading. Sans was about to attack Asriel, and he would have done, if Frisk had not stepped in.

 _I’m glad that I did intervene,_ Frisk thought, biting their bottom lip. _Sans has faced a lot, but Asriel doesn’t deserve to be mistreated. He’s trying to help us._

The goat – like Sans – had been through a lot. He was used by his beloved sibling, who urged him to go against his morals and commit genocide. Asriel had resisted, and was rewarded with the absence of a soul. Asriel had become twisted, forming into a sociopathic flower named Flowey with one, crooked idealism: kill or be killed. Then, Chara had resurfaced, giving the flower the means to become Asriel again. Asriel became himself once more, only to be betrayed by Chara yet again. He had fought back, only to fall into slumber.

The amount of guilt that must be circulating within Asriel would be colossal. Back in Frisk’s timeline, he had severely blamed himself for his actions as Flowey. The guilt Asriel would be feeling at the present would be threefold. Flowey had helped Chara murder monsters, not once trying to cease their deeds. Asriel had battled Chara once more, and was responsible in losing them yet again. Now, he lived, the souls of the six humans and his parents residing inside him.

Sans should not be harsh towards Asriel, not when the goat felt the same level of guilt as he did.

The amount of venom in Sans’s voice when he spoke to Asriel sent chills down Frisk’s spine, far stronger than the cold of Snowdin did. They had not heard that level of anger since when he fought them at the golden flowers, and when against Chara in the True Laboratory. If Frisk did not interfere . . . they feared that there would be nothing left of Asriel to save.

Sans didn’t particularly like Asriel’s plan, either, viewing it as flawed. _are you both assuming that giving chara back their soul will make them ‘good’ again_ _?_ Sans had commented. He was being incredibly pessimistic, but Frisk remained hopeful. Asriel’s plan _would_ work. There was still good in Chara, but it just needs to surface amongst the bad. Chara their soul back will help them see the error in their ways. Asriel will have their sibling back. Then, Chara can reset – restoring the Underground to normal – and Frisk can go back to their timeline. Asriel’s plan can save Sans, but the skeleton remained stubbornly unconvinced.

Knowing that Asriel’s plan would work filled Frisk with determination. Seeing that Sans would take longer to accept his plan filled them with patience.

 _Sans will eventually see that Asriel’s plan will work,_ Frisk thought. The cyan ribbon – hidden inside their hood – glowed brighter. _We just have to go through with it._

Frisk had already found one piece of Chara’s soul, the piece representing Patience, which now formed the ribbon in their hair. They just had to find five more. Asriel had hinted at the location of another soul piece, back in Waterfall. He hinted at the soul piece that represented the trait of Bravery.

_One piece of Chara’s soul might go to Bravery’s manly bandana and tough glove in Snowdin._

Frisk brought their legs up to their chest from under Sans’s hoodie, their arms wrapping around them. They could faintly remember Bravery’s manly bandana being sold at the store of the rabbit monster, along with cinnamon bunnies and bisicles. The tough glove – if their memory serves them correctly – was located in a dimensional box in Snowdin forest. The piece of Chara’s soul could be at either of those two locations. However, they would be hidden until a call of help is emitted. Only then could Frisk find them.

“hey, human.”

Frisk turned their head to see Sans standing beside them, his eye looking down on their form. Frisk wasn’t surprised of his appearance; they had had many weeks to grow comfortable with Sans’s sudden presence. The human wondered how long the skeleton had been standing there, watching them with an unblinking gaze.

“Hi,” Frisk greeted, giving him a small smile. Snow fell heavily from the clouds above, peppering his skull with white flakes. Sans seemed unconcerned about it, not making an effort to dust himself off. His grin was unwavering. He didn’t mention how Frisk was using his hoodie to protect from the cold.

Frisk narrowed their eyes at him. Under close inspection, they noticed that his white shirt was covered in splotches of black, looking suspiciously like oil or grease. A faint streak of the same substance sliced down the side of his skull.

“Uh, Sans?” they began, looking at the skeleton square in the face, “have you been working with a machine or something? You’re covered in grease, or oil, or something.”

Sans stiffened at their question, but immediately relaxed his spine; Frisk wondered if they had seen it at all.

“somethin’ like that,” he replied, giving them a shrug. His eye fell to the door that Frisk was leaning on. “you looking for supplies, or something?”

Frisk smiled. “I found some food, but that was it.” They reached to the side and snagged their backpack, quickly pulling out their lunchbox. They decided not to query him about the ‘working with machinery’. Instead, they stored the information for later pondering, and held a crab apple up to the skeleton. “Do you want some?”

“yeah, i might as well.” Sans leaned, sliding downwards against the door until he sat next to Frisk. He took the proffered crab apple from Frisk. “thanks.”

Frisk shrugged, placing the lunchbox back in the blue bag. “No problem. Wouldn’t want you to get _crabby_ now, would we?”

Sans laughed, grinning widely in amusement. He shook his head, raising his left hand to wipe at his eye socket. “that was _extraordinarily_ bad,” he commented between chuckles. The skeleton gave them a mockery of a scolding look, shaking his skull one last time before raising the crab apple to his mouth to take a bite.

“I suppose, if I stopped joking, you’ll live _apple-y_?”

“now you’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“I guess my puns can be hard to gr _apple._ ”

“oh my asgore – stop,” Sans protested. He covered his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. “now i know how my bro felt whenever i cracked a horrible pun.”

Frisk’s smile dropped at the mention of Papyrus, their expression saddening. “Yeah,” they whispered, looking away and focusing on a spot in the distance. Frisk missed Papyrus and his constant antics. They missed waking up on most mornings to the younger skeleton knocking on the door in one of his frequent visits, to which Toriel would get up and tell him that 4am is not an acceptable time to be dropping in. Frisk would always rise from bed and let him inside with a complementary glass of milk, much to their mother’s chagrin. Toriel insisted that Frisk have a full night’s sleep, but they always had time for Papyrus. “He really hated your jokes.”

Sans finished the crab apple, wiping his hands on his shirt. “i told puns relentlessly . . . i suppose that was rather _shellfish_ of me, wasn’t it?”

Frisk burst into a fit of giggles. “Now _you_ have to stop.” Despite their response, the human was beaming, feeling elated. They were glad that he was happy to joke, and they were overjoyed that he was willing to make puns again. Sans had not made a pun for the entirety of their stay in this timeline, until now.

“now you’re getting _crabby_.”

Frisk jokingly glared at him, to which he broke into laughter again. Sans seemed content, calm, almost like himself in their timeline. Frisk – for a moment – found it hard to grasp that the skeleton sitting next to them was the same one who had tried to kill them a few weeks ago. When he laughed and joked, the dark lines around his eye sockets appeared to fade. Sans looked relaxed, at ease. Frisk felt that they were closer to becoming his friend than ever before.

They opened their mouth to retaliate with another bad pun, but froze suddenly, their eyes growing wide. Sans noticed their sudden action and he ceased his chuckling, looking at them closely with his brow bones creased. He tilted his skull in confusion.

“uh, human?”

Frisk didn’t reply. They just stared past him, listening quietly.

They had heard a cry for help.


	18. Filled with Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk and Sans find Chara's soul piece responsible for the trait of Bravery.

Frisk was on their feet and running in the span of a few seconds, Sans’s hoodie falling off them as they took off. Sans had time to make an exasperated noise before the human disappeared, venturing deeper into Snowdin, their heart pounding against their ribcage.

The hood fell from their head, but Frisk paid it no mind. Their shoes sunk in the fresh snow as they ran, more of the white powder falling and tangling itself in their hair. Their blue backpack lay forgotten by the house. They spared no thoughts of going back and retrieving it; Frisk only thought of finding Chara’s soul piece of Bravery.

The call for help was louder than Patience’s had been. Where theirs was a whisper, Bravery’s was a bellow. It struck deep, resonating chords to their soul, causing it to shake. It was urgent and throbbing, a monotonous, aching roar that made Frisk instinctively run towards the source. The cyan ribbon tied in their hair glowed brighter in response to the call of the other soul piece, vibrating intensely.

Frisk darted past houses, weaving past stray planks of wood and debris. They knew that the soul piece would either be in Snowdin town with the manly bandana, or in the dimensional box with the tough glove. The human ran to the abandoned store, the one previously owned by one of the rabbit sisters. They leaned and pressed their ear against the broken door, the wood creaking at the slight action. The call for help did not blare from behind the shattered wood. It held its usual volume, whereas it should have grown louder.

The call for help came from Snowdin forest.

Frisk set off sprinting again, ignoring the fatigue than pulled at their limbs. Their breathing came in shallow wheezes, their heart beating in their chest like an incessant drum. Yet, their soul throbbed stronger, threatening to rip out of their chest in pursuit of the soul piece. They past the Snowdin sign and crossed the bridge, unconcerned to whether it would swing and buckle in response to their swift movements. It remained suspiciously solid.

Something wrapped around their left wrist, wrenching them to a stop. Frisk shrieked, their head whipping around to see Sans, the phalanges of his right hand digging into their skin. In his other hand, he held the blue backpack, his hoodie draped over his arm like a waiter. The skeleton’s single eye scanned them closely, confusion etched on his features. A solitary drop of his magic leaked from his eye.

“where are you going, human?” Sans asked. His quizzical and demanding expression waned, the edges of his smile quirking upwards and his gaze lightening. “are my puns really that bad?”

“No – Sans – let me go.” Frisk didn’t have time to joke; the calls for help were becoming more insistent. “I can hear a call for help, Sans. I know where another piece of Chara’s soul is.”

His playful expression dropped, his grin becoming a thin line. His quick descent to seriousness would have surprised Frisk, if their mind was not on something else. Sans’s yellow and cyan eye was trained on their face, the magic leaking from it slow and somnolent.

“you’re really going through with that goat’s plan, huh?” he murmured, his voice soft.

“Yes. It’s the only plan we have.”

Sans considered it, the lines around his eye sockets growing darker and more pronounced. He looked down, gazing at his hand that held Frisk’s arm, holding them back. The skeleton suddenly recoiled, as if stung, quickly letting go of their wrist and withdrawing his hand. Frisk frowned at his sudden flinching, glancing down at their wrist to check if there was anything unusual about it.

“fine,” Sans muttered, looking away from them. “but i'm going with you.”

The human nodded, and the skeleton held out their backpack and his hoodie, still avoiding their gaze. Frisk, suddenly aware of how cold it was, shuddered and took the hoodie from him. They draped the hoodie around their shoulders, the fibres of the clothing yielding great warmth. Frisk slung the backpack on, tightening the straps. They thanked him; Sans grunted in reply.

“All right,” said Frisk, starting to walk quickly towards the forest. Sans followed, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “I think the soul piece is this way.”

“fantastic.” Sans’s voice was unenthusiastic, expressing as much excitement as one proclaiming that they might watch paint dry, or measure the length of every blade of grass in a field.

The two walked briskly towards the forest of Snowdin, walking through the stuck and broken puzzles. The snowfall lessened somewhat, yet the wind picked up, howling and whistling against the trees. It tugged at Frisk’s hair and yanked at the hoodie draped over them; they grasped the hoodie in case it flew off, caught in the sweeping fingers of the wind. No matter how loud or ferocious the wind got, the call for help ringed true, piercing and thunderous.

The human slowed, allowing the skeleton to catch up so they walked side-by-side. Frisk didn’t particularly like the idea of Sans following in their footsteps, trailing them without an idea of where he was going. Sans reached them, and they walked beside each other, not uttering a word. He, however, spared them a curious look in the corner of Frisk’s eye.

Sans’s presence calmed Frisk, dulling their urgency to reach the soul piece as soon as possible. They were reminded of how dangerous it had been when Frisk last responded to a call for help. They had been slashed at wildly with a knife, the very possibility of death looming above them like a fog. Frisk walked towards the forest quickly, yet with a sense of caution. Sans did not object to their pace, easily matching the speed of their footsteps with his own.

When the pair reached the first ‘X and O’ puzzle, the calling becoming loud and fierce, booming inside Frisk’s head. They winced at the volume, raising one hand to clutch at their head as if to quieten it. Sans looked over at them, concern ghosting on his features.

“why can’t i hear this supposed calling for help?” he asked, raising a brow bone.

Frisk looked over at Sans, their hand still gripping the side of their head. “Probably because it’s a human calling for help. The part of Chara’s soul for Bravery is a part of a _human_ soul, not a monster one. I guess that’s why I can hear it, and you can’t?”

Sans frowned, muttering something under his breath. Frisk didn’t ask him to divulge.

The two continued walking in silence.

They had reached Papyrus’s electricity maze when Sans’s took a stab at conversation: “you know that bridge before snowdin? the one which papyrus called ‘the gauntlet of deadly terror’?”

Frisk frowned, their head throbbing with the strength of the calling voice. “Uh . . . yeah?” They couldn’t see where this was going.

“that’s not a bridge at all. it's actually a painted rock formation.”

The human suddenly remembered a phone call from Papyrus they had, back when they were seven and in the Underground. Frisk had been standing on the bridge, and the younger skeleton had said that it was a rock formation that he had painted, even adding the rope on the side. He had painted it so well, that the younger Frisk had trouble believing that it was not actually a bridge.

“I had forgotten about that,” Frisk replied.

Sans shrugged, nodding his head to something on Frisk’s right. They turned and saw Papyrus’s old sentry station, the structure misshapen and unstable. There was a thick blanket of white on the broken roof. The entire station creaked and groaned under the strong wind, the wood buckling as it swayed from side to side. For such a badly-constructed sentry station, it still did not topple. “papyrus had many talents.”

Frisk smiled at the warmth in Sans’s voice. Sans – in Frisk’s timeline – was incredibly proud of his brother, regularly discussing his achievements when Papyrus was absent. It was clear that his strong fondness towards his younger sibling was present in this timeline. The human looked over at Sans, who was staring ahead, one hand wiping the black mark on the side of his skull. They opened their mouth to ask about his ‘machinery’ work again, but remembered how dismissive and aloof he had been about it. The human decided to remain quiet.

Frisk and Sans had walked into the next area when the human doubled over, both hands grasping their head, letting out a cry. Their soul was torn out of their chest, bobbing red in front of them. The skeleton whirled around.

“human, what’s wrong? what’s happening?” Sans asked quickly, his single eye scanning them for injuries. His hands curled into fists, glowing blue at his sides. The skeleton looked around, glaring at his surroundings and trying to find a cause.

“It’s Chara’s soul piece . . .” Frisk managed to say, closing their eyes and wincing. The calling voice of the soul piece had become almost deafening. It was a constant pounding, like a hammer drumming against their head. It roared in their mind, their thoughts scattering at its weight. The call for help from the soul piece of Patience had not been this loud, or this insistent. Patience had been calm, whereas this one was demanding, beseeching. Frisk’s soul quivered.

Sans turned, his brow bones furrowed. “what—?”

“Sans!” Frisk interrupted, opening their brown eyes to look up at him. “The soul piece is here . . . Where is the dimensional box?”

The skeleton blinked and glanced around. All that could be seen was piles of snow, smothering the ground in fluffy white waves. The snowfall had ceased, but the wind remained, pulling and tugging at the fallen snow. White surged, caught in the strong tendrils of the gusts.

Frisk squinted and joined Sans in the search. They spotted something sticking out from a lump of snow and their heart leaped.

“There, Sans!” They pointed at it. “It’s there!”

Before the human could hobble over to it, the skeleton was there in an instant, his hands scraping off the snow. Uncovered from the white, the dimensional box sat squat, its lid quaking. The box was shaking in broad, haphazard bounds. Orange and red light flashed from inside it, splashing the snow around it in colour. Sans stared at it, his hands wreathed cobalt, as though to blast it.

“Open it!” Frisk yelled.

Sans slowly extended his hands, not sparing the human another look. He wedged his fingers underneath the jumping lid and started to gradually, cautiously, open it.

The skeleton was suddenly thrown back as the box fully opened, something orange springing forth and crashing onto the snow. Frisk’s mind cleared as the call for help abruptly disappeared, and they raised their head, disoriented. They saw Sans rise to his feet, anger flashing in his eye as a wave of bones materialised above him, aiming at the orange creature.

Frisk’s eyes widened and they held out a hand. “Wait – Sans – stop!”

Sans’s gaze switched to them, and the bones vanished with a reluctant nudge of his hand. His hands still glowed a threatening blue. Both the human and the skeleton looked over at the orange creature, who had recovered from its fall and was now standing, facing them.

It was a small human, possibly around ten. Their body was translucent – like a ghost – and glowing a bright orange. Their facial features were indistinct. Around their forehead was a bandana, with boxing gloves covering their hands. An orange soul hovered in front of their chest.

 _The remnant of Bravery,_ Frisk thought with wonder. Bravery – despite being shorter than both Sans and Frisk – appeared to tower over them. They were a pillar of strength, power and vigour encompassing their very being. Their glow was intense, almost on the verge of being blinding. They stood confidently, assuredly. Frisk gazed at them with awe.

Bravery looked at them, their stare strong. _Good, you’re here,_ they said. Frisk resisted the urge to flinch; their voice was powerful and loud. _I’ve been trying to convince them ever since they came to me._

Frisk frowned and Bravery, recognising their confusion, pointed to the dimensional box. The box was still, the lid wide open. From inside, a red light was glowing, fainter and softer than Bravery’s own light.

“Chara?” Frisk questioned tentatively. Bravery nodded. “What’s wrong with them?”

 _They’re scared. They are convinced that they are not brave._ Bravery looked over at the dimensional box.

“what is going on?” Sans asked. His one eye glared at Bravery with a stare penetrating enough to melt ice. The orange human – unaware or perhaps uncaring of Sans’s gaze – slowly approached the box and started murmuring in hushed, gentle tones.

“This piece of Chara’s soul represents the trait of Bravery,” Frisk explained, turning towards him. “Inside the dimensional box is a red human – which is the representation of Chara. Bravery is the orange one. Together, they make up a piece of Chara’s soul. But, the two are at unease. I have to try to settle that, like how I did with one of the pieces in the Ruins.” The human gestured towards the ribbon in their hair, which was glowing brightly.

Sans’s eye sockets narrowed and Frisk gave him an exasperated look. “It’s the only way to help!” they retorted.

Suddenly, a rush of red knives materialised above the box, glowing crimson against the snow. They shot forwards, causing Bravery to quickly dive to the side. Frisk gasped and moved to dodge the offending daggers, but a wall of thick bones erupted from the ground in front of them. The knives clattered against the defensive shield and dissipated into red wisps. They looked over their shoulder, finding Sans standing closer to them with his blue hand splayed. Frisk gave him a smile of thanks, to which he stiffly nodded, vanishing the bones.

Bravery righted themselves, their gloves hands formed into fists at their sides. _You must talk to them._ The orange human switched their gaze to Frisk. _I’ve done everything I can think of, but they still won’t be brave._

Sans cocked his skull to the side. “chara’s hiding in the box?”

Frisk nodded. “And I have to try to get them out.”

The sixteen-year-old human swallowed hard and began to carefully make their way towards the dimensional box. Their footsteps were light on the snow, the wind tearing at their clothing. The red light from inside the box was faint and feeble; even Frisk’s old lantern would be brighter. Frisk halted when they were a few metres away from it, crouching slightly.

“Chara?” they asked hesitantly, their exposed soul trembling with anticipation.

 _Go away!_ Chara warned. Their voice was quiet, frail, as though it was delicate glass. It painted a stark contrast between them and Bravery: where they were muted, Bravery was deafening.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Frisk made their voice soft, as though soothing a panicked animal. “I just want to—”

 _I said, go away!_ Red knives ejected from the box, rising upwards, point up, to the cloudy ceiling of the Underground. The glowing weapons twirled and aimed towards Frisk, shooting downwards like an array of arrows. A large bone appeared above the human before Frisk could react to Chara’s sudden onslaught. The femur spun and deflected the knives, causing them to dissolve as they were rebounded away.

As the bone evaporated into nothingness, Frisk glanced back at Sans. Several bones hovered behind him, his hands glowing blue to manipulate them. Their eyes met his lone one, understanding passing through the two: the human will concentrate on talking, the skeleton will focus on defending them. They both nodded, and Frisk turned back to the box.

“I want to help you,” Frisk said to Chara. They felt like sitting down by the box, but they were sure that that particular movement would not be appreciated. Instinct told them to remain on their feet in the case of Chara sending knives up through the ground. Frisk remained standing, though leaned down slightly; enough to see part of the box’s inside, but not Chara.

 _I don’t need your help!_ snapped Chara in response.

“What are you afraid of?”

The red human fell silent, the glow from inside the box almost fading completely. After a few, tense moments had passed, they spoke again, their voice quieter than before. _You can’t help me. Not even that orange piece of trash over there can help me._

 _That was a bit harsh,_ Bravery muttered.

“Are you afraid of something?” Frisk questioned again, ignoring Bravery’s comment. “Is that why you don’t want help? Is that why you’re scared?”

 _SHUT UP!_ Knives burst out of the box like a firework, a large torrent surging forth and sweeping towards Frisk. Pale bones appeared in seconds, blocking the knives from reaching their target.

Just as Sans’s conjured bones disappeared, another wave of knives shot out of the box. The wave parted into three sections, firing towards Bravery, Frisk and Sans. Bravery was meeting their offending knives head-on, running _towards_ the knives, their gloved hands punching them as they fired towards them. Sans summoned a gasterblaster to fire at his incoming knives with one hand, while the other instructed a wall of bones to rise out of the ground in front of Frisk. Several knives struck the wall, scattering into nothing, but most swerved around it like homing missiles, quickly flitting towards Frisk.

Sans cursed, deflecting the remainder of his offending knives with a bone, swatting the blades aside like flies. The human side-stepped and dodged theirs, resulting in the knives to wedge themselves in the snow, vanishing on impact. A stray knife nicked Frisk’s leg and they winced, reaching down to hold the cut. Blood trickled from the wound slowly; Frisk was thankful that it was a shallow incision.

“you all right, human?” Sans asked. Frisk turned to him. There were slashes in his white shirt, a particularly large gash exposing some of his cyan-and-yellow-stained ribs. The blue around his hands had not yet faded, thrashing between his phalanges like the tongues of flame. His spine was straight, his demeanour tense and alert. His magic oozed out of his eye socket in multiple streams, branching from his eye. His eye flicked towards Frisk’s cut leg, his brow bones furrowing a small degree.

Frisk gave him a thumbs-up. Sans sighed and shook his head, relaxing his back.

Bravery jumped from foot to foot excitedly. _That was fun,_ they said. Frisk thought that they sounded a bit too enthusiastic about getting attacked by a horde of knives than they should be.

“speak for yourself,” Sans uttered bitterly, peering down at the hole in his shirt and prodding his visible ribs with a finger.

Frisk put a finger to their lips, urging them to be quiet. They turned back to the box, the red light from inside it glowing evermore faintly.

“It’s all right,” they whispered. “I can help you. I can help with what you’re afraid of.”

Chara was silent, the red glow flickering like a struggling flame. Then, in a voice so soft Frisk almost missed it, they murmured: _I’m afraid of failing the monsters again._

A crease appeared from in between Frisk’s eyebrows. “What do you mean by ‘again’?”

There was a great roar, and a barrier of giant knives emerged from the ground around the dimensional box, causing snow to scatter. Frisk stepped back, awaiting more knives to descend upon them, but none appeared. The conjured knives hummed, standing stoic and still as sharp, defensive pillars. The human could go no closer.

 _I tried to slay the humans by tricking Asriel, my brother!_ Chara bellowed angrily, the red light from inside the box glowing brighter. _He stopped me and took us back to the Underground, where we died! My actions brought despair to the monsters! I failed them! I never want to do that again!_

“You didn’t fail them,” Frisk insisted. Sans muttered something from behind them – likely something disparaging – but Frisk chose to ignore him.

_I left them worse than they were originally._

“You didn’t fail the monsters. You were trying to help. No matter how misguided your actions might have been, you were trying to help. That required bravery.”

The red light weakened. _My actions were not brave,_ Chara protested.

Bravery moved closer to the cage of knives, standing a few metres away from Frisk. A large, orange glove materialised above their shoulder. The orange human directed the giant glove over to the wall of knives, and the hovering glove curled into a fist. Slowly, the glove extended a finger and lightly touched a knife. On contact, the knife vanished.

Frisk stared at the glove in surprise. It was an orange attack, one which they had encountered with Asgore in conjunction with cyan attacks. _O-orange ones . . . Move through those!_ Alphys had said, when Frisk met orange lasers in their timeline. If they could remember correctly, moving through the orange attack would deal no damage, whereas staying still would. As Chara’s barricade of knives was not moving, it could be destroyed.

Bravery looked over at Frisk. They gave them a look, indicating for them to keep talking while they took care of the knives. Frisk nodded and focused on the box.

“Your actions were brave,” they stated confidently. “You ate the poisonous golden flowers so Asriel could absorb your soul after your death. You sacrificed yourself to save the monsters. Isn’t that brave?” Frisk decided not to mention how Chara had wanted to kill the humans.

 _It didn’t work,_ Chara replied. They were oblivious to Bravery slowly disposing of their knife shield. _My ‘sacrifice’ gained nothing._

“But, that doesn’t mean you failed them. You’re the hope of humans and monsters, Chara. You can still help the monsters.”

Chara was quiet, as though they were considering Frisk’s proposal. _I don’t want to screw it up again._ They sounded terrified, like a scared child afraid of the beasts in their closet.

Frisk could relate to their fear. They didn’t want to ruin this timeline, to mess things up so completely that Sans could not be saved. Frisk, however, was confident that they wouldn’t. Frisk saved the monsters in their timeline, and (somewhat, it was still shaky amongst some) mended human and monster relations. They didn’t damage anything then, and they wouldn’t now. Frisk can restore this timeline. Even if their present situation was a bit more complicated than their last venture in the Underground, Frisk could meet the challenge head-on and see it through. They were brave.

“Hey, you still want to save the monsters, right?” Frisk asked.

 _Obviously,_ quipped Chara, sounding irritated.

“Well, I know how you can help. I saved the monsters in my timeline, and you can help me do it in this one too.”

 _Really? You saved monsterkind?_ Chara seemed apprehensive, unbelieving.

“Yes. I helped break the barrier and bring monsters up on the surface.” Frisk remained calm, even in the face of their scepticism. The last knife of Chara’s shield vanished, and the orange glove withdrew. “And you can help me with this timeline.”

 _How?_ Chara asked, interest laced in their voice. The red glow from inside the box glowed brighter. They made no effort to attack.

“We have a plan, which you are a part. You can help save the remaining monster in this timeline—” Sans, who had been absentmindedly twirling a few bones in the air to keep him occupied, looked over quickly at Frisk – “and help restore this timeline to the way it was before. But, you have to be—”

 _—brave!_ Bravery interrupted, standing assuredly. _Saving the monsters is what you want to do, right? In order to do that, you have to be brave! Don’t hide behind your so-called failures! You can do this, you just have to have courage and meet it with confidence!_

Chara’s red light lessened. _But, I –_

 _Look, Chara. You are brave. To save the monsters, you sacrificed your life so your brother could cross the barrier so, together, you could save monsterkind. You could have backed out of that, but you were dedicated to it. The love you had towards your family gave you the strength to carry it through. Now, you need that devotion to try save the monsters again. You need that nerve, that_ bravery _to save the species you love. You are meant for greater things than hiding in a box._

Frisk watched as Chara’s head rose out of the box, their eyes large and sorrowful. They appeared younger than they actually were. _I can do this?_

Frisk and Bravery nodded at the same moment, Sans staring at Chara cautiously. Chara closed their eyes, swallowing hard. Their red glow around them brightened, and they nodded. Frisk gave them some space as the red human started climbing out of the box, moving back towards Sans. Chara soon stood in front of Bravery, appearing sheepish.

Bravery held a gloved hand, grinning from ear to ear. Chara smiled back and grasped it.

As they touched, there was a bright flash – like a small explosion. It sent both Sans and Frisk sprawling onto their backs, the human’s ears ringing, though it had made no sound. Snow smothered them as they fell into its embrace. When the remnant of Patience and Chara had combined, the collision had not been that strong enough to sweep Frisk off their feet. Frisk’s soul sunk back into their chest.

Groaning, Frisk raised their head. The two humans were gone, an orange bandana resting on the snow where the two were previously standing. The bandana lifted into the air, as though caught by the wind, and drifted to Frisk, landing at their shoulder. The human could feel it humming.

“well, some plan, huh?” said a muffled voice. Frisk turned their head and saw Sans almost completely covered in snow. He had landed on his back on a pile of snow, resulting in the white substance submerging most of his body; only his legs and his skull were above the snow. He appeared as though he had been decapitated. Frisk resisted the urge to laugh at his unimpressed expression.

The skeleton tried moving, the snow shifting around him as he wiggled his legs. He was deeply wedged into the pile of semi-frozen snow. After a few failed attempts, Sans looked over to them and cracked a genuine grin. “it’s _snow_ use, i’m stuck.”

Frisk succumbed to a laughing fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes. Two soul pieces found, four to go! If you're perceptive and noticed the little hints I've been giving, you'll know which one is going to be found next.
> 
> The chapters after this are the chapters I have been looking forward to for a _very_ long time, even before I started writing this fanfic on here. They're going to be fun to write, and hopefully fun to read! We shall see.
> 
> Speaking of which, my family and I are going on a holiday soon, so the next update might be a few days late. Just warning you guys.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Thanks you guys for all the supportive comments and kudos! I honestly didn't expect this fanfiction to get as much reception as it has so I am utterly thrilled! :D


	19. A Nine-Years-Old Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk does some reflection, as well as possibly bringing up some unhappy memories for Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter, guys! I got back from my holiday a couple of days ago, and I realised that I hadn't written any of this chapter _at all_ , even though I thought I had! Whoops. Anyway, really sorry! 
> 
> Anyway, enough about my rambling, enjoy the chapter! Because these next chapters . . . oh boy, I have been excited for them since the start!

After helping extract Sans from the snow, Frisk had walked with him back to Snowdin, where – by the time they arrived – it was already washed in the darkness of the night. They had put a plaster over the cut on their leg, and had had a quick dinner with Sans at Grillby’s before the human was locked into the toolshed for the night. They had fallen asleep with the cyan ribbon in their hair, and the orange bandana around their neck.

Now, in the next day, Frisk was wandering about Snowdin. Their shoes crunched on hardened snow, their breath exuding in pale puffs. Their hands were in the pockets of Sans’s hoodie; which they wore to stay the cold. Their blue backpack slapped against their back as they walked, the lunchbox rattling. The orange bandana was loosely tied around their neck, like a short, thin scarf, whilst the cyan ribbon hung from their hair. They walked with no real aim, their mind processing recent events.

Asriel had not graced their dreams in the night, as Frisk thought he would. They thought that, after retrieving Chara’s soul piece of Bravery the day before, the young goat would visit them in a dream and tell them where the next soul piece was. Instead, Frisk dreamed that they were in the True Laboratory. The haunting image of Chara had appeared, leaking red determination from the corners of their eyes, from both nostrils, from the gaps of their teeth bared in a smile, filling the room up. Dream-Frisk had tried to move, tried to scream, but they stood motionless as the leaking determination splashed against the floor, the level rising slowly upwards to the roof whilst Chara laughed. They had been drowning, gagging on the determination flooding into their lungs, when the sinister human whispered a single word from inside their head: _Soon._

They had woken with a start, their heart hammering faster than a pounding drum.

Frisk hadn’t seen the real Chara of this timeline ever since they had seen them in the True Lab with Sans. Chara had fought the skeleton, but he had escaped with Frisk, due to an unexpected shortcut. Frisk had no idea what they were doing now.

 _Chara wouldn’t just be biding their time in the Laboratory,_ Frisk thought, kicking a stray rock in their path. _They were talking about needing me for my determination, before._

According to Asriel, Chara wanted to cross the barrier in order to wreak havoc amongst the humans. So then, why did Chara want Frisk’s determination? Sheer determination can’t allow someone to cross the barrier; the barrier is made from soul power. In order to cross it, one would need both a human and monster soul. Chara had neither.

 _What if that’s why I’m here?_ Frisk wondered, frowning to themselves. _Maybe I’m in this timeline because Chara made me to be? Maybe they’re going to kill Sans and I, collect our souls, and then cross the barrier?_

The human let out an exasperated sigh and spun in a slow circle, falling into a sitting position on a lump of snow. _If that were the case, why didn’t Chara kill us when we were in the True Laboratory? They were_ toying _with us, back in the laboratory. They didn’t want our souls; they wanted my determination. But, why would they need my determination? And what are they doing now?_

Frisk felt as though they should ask Sans their questions, maybe have a small discussion with him about it. However, the skeleton had soon disappeared after he unlocked the door of the toolshed in the morning, no doubt vanishing to ‘work with machinery’, as established the day before. The human had yet to ask Sans about what machinery he was working with, but they could guess; there weren’t many machines in Snowdin.

 _That conveyor belt for the ice, maybe? That one where Ice Wolf worked beside? That’s a possibility. Or . . ._ Their gaze flicked towards Snowdin, the image of Sans’s and Papyrus’s house flashing in their mind. _Or, Sans’s broken machine in his laboratory?_

Sans working with his broken machine seemed more likely. Though, what purpose would it serve? When Frisk first discovered Sans’s secret room, the machine had been sitting in the corner, a blanket thrown on top of it. It had appeared broken, though the young, seven-year-old human was hesitant to uncover it. Sans had only given them the key to his room, not his private laboratory, after all. They had only been standing in that room because they had the pluck to rummage through Sans’s bedroom drawers. Frisk – to this day – _still_ did not know what that machine was for, despite their many years of pondering.

 _Either way, it’s his business,_ Frisk thought, rising from their seat in the snow and resuming their walk. _I’m not a nosy kid anymore; if Sans wants to tell me about what he’s doing, then he will._ At their thoughts, the cyan ribbon pulsed softly at their patience.

Frisk looked up and carefully extracted the ribbon from their hair with one hand. Their other hand loosened the orange bandana from around their neck. Holding both items in their hands, Frisk could feel them humming against their skin.

The ribbon in their right hand glowed cyan softly, like the dull glow of a dying fire. In comparison, the bandana exuded a bright orange, strong and unwavering, unlike the flickering light that the ribbon was producing. While the ribbon was sending Frisk gentle feelings of caution and patience, the bandana was providing them with bravery and the need to charge ahead without a second thought. The two were opposite forces, the sides of a coin.

Despite this, the two were similar in the fact that they were manifestations of a part of Chara’s soul. They belonged to the same human. They were, in a way, the same, despite their differences.

However, the two soul pieces and their conflicting natures found Frisk exhausted. When they had woken up from their nightmare, the ribbon had sent them feelings of tolerance, urging them to take their time in calming down before resuming sleep. In contrast, the orange bandana had sent them nerve, beseeching them to go back to sleep immediately, without waiting for Frisk to slow their beating heart. The feelings sent by the objects weren’t strong, per se, but more like a nagging, prodding sensation on Frisk’s soul. It felt as though someone was trying to pull their soul in two different directions. The mental struggle Frisk had experienced had kept them up for another half hour.

“You two have to work together, at some point,” Frisk muttered, their gaze switching from the bandana to the ribbon. “Otherwise, I’m going to get splitting headaches.” The two items throbbed in unison – the ribbon soft, the bandana bright – in response, as though they were ashamed.

The human sighed. They returned the ribbon to their hair and the bandana around their neck. They slipped their hands back into their pockets and looked around Snowdin forest, their brown eyes scanning the landscape. Pillows of white were held in the lofty branches of trees, ice hardening the needles like spears. Sans’s old sentry station sat stoic and squat, layers of untouched snow caking the roof and smothering the benchtop. Frisk’s sight lingered on the structure.

Without the guidance of Asriel, Frisk didn’t know the location of the next soul piece. The human, however, had the feeling that it was not in Snowdin, but, instead, somewhere in Waterfall. Frisk was reluctant to go looking for it, as the soul piece might not appear, and they at least wanted Sans to know what they were doing, first. Sans had expressed interest in accompanying them – as he did with the soul piece of Bravery – so the human didn’t want to leave Snowdin without him. This plan involved not just Frisk, but Sans too, which meant the skeleton should not be left behind.

Something blue sticking out from a pile of snow caught Frisk’s eye, and they moved to surface the object. They crouched down beside it the small lump of snow, removing their hands from the pockets of Sans’s hoodie. Brushing away the snow, they uncovered a lamp, the lampshade drooping and sagging with the weight of snow that had long covered it. It would have been conveniently-shaped, if it wasn’t for the fact Frisk had grown taller.

Frisk felt themselves smile at the sight of it, their eyes scanning over the environment with a new light. They had first met Papyrus here, along with first sampling the skelebros’ relationship. The seven-year-old Frisk had hidden behind the lamp and had to listen to the antics of the two skeletons, struggling to hold in giggles. It was a memory that made their soul warm, and one they had repeated to themselves frequently. Because of this, they had practically seared it into memory, along with other particularly memorable events of the Underground (such as Undyne’s cooking lesson, Frisk could _never_ forget burning her house down).

The human thought for a moment, before straightening up, their mind and soul set. _I’ve got nothing else to do, I might as well have a little fun._

Filled with recollection, they walked over to a spot closest to the wall Papyrus had built, standing on the far left. They slung off their backpack and tossed it aside, causing it to land near Sans’s old sentry station on the snow with a soft _fumph._ Frisk – resisting the urge to laugh at what they were about to do -- slouched slightly, putting their hands back inside their pockets.

“’sup, bro?’” they said in a horrible imitation of Sans, trying to deepen their voice. They couldn’t help the grin spreading on their face in response of the ridiculousness of the action.

Frisk then quickly moved over to the spot they remembered Papyrus standing. They stood straighter as they attempted to simulate the taller skeleton. “’YOU KNOW WHAT’S ‘SUP’, BROTHER! IT’S BEEN SEVEN DAYS’ – no, wait, that isn’t right. It wasn’t ‘seven days’.” Frisk pulled themselves out of their Papyrus impression and thought for a moment.

“’—IT’S BEEN EIGHT DAYS’,” Frisk corrected, resuming being Papyrus, struggling to make their voice as loud as his, “’AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T . . . RECALIBRATED. YOUR.  PUZZLES! YOU JUST HANG AROUND OUTSIDE YOUR STATION! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?!’”

Frisk walked quickly back to Sans’s spot. “’staring at this lamp. it's really cool. do you wanna look?’”

They flounced back over to Papyrus’s spot. “’NO! I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT! WHAT IF A HUMAN COMES THROUGH HERE!? I WANT TO BE READY! I WILL BE THE ONE! I MUST BE THE ONE! I WILL CAPTURE A HUMAN! THEN, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS . . .” Frisk put their hand on their chest, imagining the orange bandana as a scarf flapping in the wind. “’WILL GET ALL THE THINGS I UTTERLY DESERVE! RESPECT . . . RECOGNITION . . . I WILL FINALLY BE ABLE TO JOIN THE ROYAL GUARD! PEOPLE WILL ASK, TO, BE, MY, ‘FRIEND’? I WILL BATHE IN A SHOWER OF KISSES EVERY MORNING.’”

“’hmm . . . maybe this lamp will help you’,” Frisk responded from Sans’s spot. With every switch in character, they moved to the corresponding person’s position.

Frisk stomped their foot as they stood as Papyrus. “’SANS! YOU ARE NOT HELPING! YOU LAZYBONES! ALL YOU DO IS SIT AND BOONDOGGLE! YOU GET LAZIER AND LAZIER EVERY DAY!’”

“’hey, take it easy’,” Frisk replied. “’i’ve gotten a ton of work done today. a skele-ton.’” The human winked, giving Papyrus’s spot a wide grin.

“’SANS!’” yelled Frisk as they returned to Papyrus’s spot, glaring disapprovingly at where Sans would be standing. They forced their grin into a pained smile.

Frisk strode back to the left. “’come on, you’re smiling’.”

“’I AM AND I HATE IT!’” The human released an exaggerated sigh, shaking their head. “’WHY DOES SOMEONE AS GREAT AS ME . . . HAVE TO DO SO MUCH JUST TO GET SOME RECOGNITION . . .’”

“’wow, sounds like you’re really working yourself . . . down to the bone.’” Frisk shrugged and winked.

Frisk let out an exasperated noise as Papyrus. “’UGH! I WILL ATTEND TO MY PUZZLES . . . AS FOR YOUR WORK? PUT A LITTLE MORE, ‘BACKBONE’ INTO IT!’” The human cleared their throat, already feeling sore with the numerous changes in voice. They rose their voice to Papyrus’s volume and attempted his laugh: “’NYEHEHEHEHEHEH—‘”

In the middle of the laugh, Frisk turned, preparing to exit Snowdin forest, when they spotted Sans standing behind the conveniently-shaped lamp. He was still wearing his white shirt, which was marred with rips from the previous day and new scorch and oil marks. He was staring at them in disbelief, his leaking magic still as droplets on his face. Frisk’s eyes widened, their voice breaking in surprise: “’—hehehe . . .’”

The human stiffened and became still, looking down at their feet in embarrassment. Their hands clutched from behind their back in a firm hold. Frisk didn’t know how long Sans had been standing there, watching them act the encounter between him and his brother. Their cheeks burnt, colour rising to their face. The skeleton continued to stare at Frisk, his single eye fixed on their face. His smile had become a thin, small line. They wanted to just slowly melt into the hoodie, hiding themselves from his unwavering gaze.

After what felt like the longest time, Sans moved himself to speech: “uh . . .”

Frisk swallowed hard, forcing themselves to raise their gaze to his astonished face. He looked genuinely dumbfounded, not knowing what to say. “Please,” the human murmured, their fingers tightening around their clasped hands, “ _please_ don’t ask.”

Sans closed his mouth, and the two avoided the other’s gaze. They both awkwardly stood for a few moments.

“um, i'm going to have to ask,” Sans started, his eye looking at Frisk again. “what was that?”

Frisk let out a small groan, colour flushing brightly on their cheeks. “You were here this whole time . . .?”

The skeleton nodded slowly. Without his hoodie, his hands were hanging rather limply at his sides.

They sighed, unclasping their hands and putting them in their pockets. Confidence flowed through them with the aid of the bandana and Frisk forced themselves to divulge: “Uh, that was the conversation you and Papyrus had when I first encountered you two. You know, back in my timeline.”

Sans’s eye sockets blinked once. He glanced over at the spot he would have been standing, before looking back at Frisk. “and you were standing behind this conveniently-shaped lamp while it was happening?” The skeleton tilted his head downwards at the lamp.

Frisk nodded in response.

Sans nodded slowly. His expression had become unreadable, not unlike a stone mask; Frisk felt themselves grow uneasy. “so . . . that’s how it went for you, huh?” His tone was flat.

Frisk shrunk back into the hoodie slightly. He was talking about how the encounter had gone with Chara instead of Frisk. By reliving the conversation between the Sans and Papyrus of their timeline, Frisk had likely brought back unpleasant memories for Sans. They felt mortified and guilty.

“Yes,” Frisk muttered, their voice quiet.

Sans’s expression grew soft, the edges of his mouth tilting upwards in a sad smile. “you remember the entire conversation . . . word for word?” he asked. Frisk raised their head and blinked quickly. He sounded both melancholy and flattered, if Frisk thought it possible.

“Yes, apart from that little slip-up I had at the start. It was quite a memorable conversation.”

“it sure sounds like it.”

Frisk gave him a small smile. They were still aware of the awkwardness that hung over the two like a looming cloud. Sans’s sad smile had melted into a small frown. He looked as though he had crumpled in on himself; hunching like a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. His single eye stared down at his slippers.

“Uh . . . are you all right?” Frisk asked before they could help themselves. They winced, cringing at the stupid question.

Sans looked up at them. His facial features twitched, his scowl twisting into a smile that looked pained. He made an effort to straighten up, to appear less dejected. Despite his efforts, sadness still swam in the murky depths of his cyan-and-yellow eye. “yeah. i just wanted to check up on you.” He craned his upwards towards the ceiling of the Underground. “it’s about a couple of hours ‘til sunset, i think.”

Frisk nodded. Sans was clearly lying, but they thought that discussing it further may do more harm. They _knew_ that he missed his brother terribly, so acting out a conversation he had had with Papyrus in their timeline wasn’t a good move. Especially since Sans had a penchant for checking up on Frisk a few times a day. Now, Sans saw them, and it caused bad memories to surface in his mind. The human’s soul was heavy with guilt.

“I’ll try to find more food, then,” Frisk suggested.

“sounds good.” His face was once again an impassive mask, the 

Frisk walked over and scooped up their backpack, slinging it back on. With their cheeks still red from embarrassment, they walked towards Snowdin without another word.

They didn’t see Sans’s miserable look towards the spot they were previously standing, the place where Papyrus once stood.

 

* * *

 

Frisk didn’t see Sans again until darkness had descended upon them, the light of the stones above dimming into night. The human had scoured the town for food, finding the last few dregs: a cinnamon bun and two bisicles. They were standing outside the toolshed, absentmindedly picking at their cuticles when they saw the skeleton approach. They blinked quickly and straightened up, gripping the straps of their backpack.

Sans stopped in front of them, and Frisk stepped aside, waiting for him to open the toolshed. Instead, he stared at the ground, his skull downwards and his smile small. Frisk noticed a scorch mark marring the top of his head. They didn’t say anything at his silence, but confusion worked its way through them. Sans looked uncertain about something; Frisk frowned.

“look, human,” Sans finally said, looking up at them at last, “i was thinking that, well, the toolshed is pretty cold at night. also, we haven’t heard from chara in a few days –”

Frisk’s brown eyes widened; he’d been having the same thoughts too.

“—so maybe it’s best if we stay close, y’know? just in case.”

Frisk blinked, not understanding. “What are you–?”

“i’m meaning that, maybe it’s best if you sleep inside the house instead. it'll be safer. strength in numbers, right?” Sans stared at them imploringly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

The human was taken aback. After so many weeks of sleeping locked in the toolshed, Sans was offering to let them stay in his house? Sans was trusting them with staying in his home, and that made Frisk oddly happy. It was a sign of his confidence in them, a sign of a progress of friendship, even after the incident earlier in the day. The cyan ribbon glowed brighter.

“Sure, that sounds like a good idea,” Frisk replied with a smile. Sans gave them a weak one back, but appeared pleased.

Several minutes later, Frisk had emptied the toolshed of their accumulated belongings – their blankets, pieces of paper, the dog bed – and was standing inside Sans’s house, holding them in their arms.

They shifted from foot to foot, looking over the house. It hadn’t changed since when they first saw it, all those weeks ago. The giant bone still stuck through the ceiling, partially blocking the stairwell. The striped carpet was still surprisingly clean, as though the skeleton cleaned and vacuumed often. The television sat in front of the green couch. Frisk felt a flush of gratefulness.

“so, uh, i don’t exactly have a spare room,” Sans said as he entered, locking the front door behind him and looking back at Frisk. “you are welcome to crash on the couch, though.”

Frisk nodded, moving over to the couch. Tentatively, feeling slightly awkward under Sans’s gaze, they slung off their backpack and set it on the floor beside the couch. They lay down on the furniture; it was lumpy, the squashed cushions both cradling and jabbing into their body.

“comfortable?” Sans asked, raising a brow bone with a grin.

“ _Sofa-_ r.”

The skeleton groaned and shook his head at their pun. “that was beyond terrible.”

Frisk stuck out their tongue, draping the blankets over them and wedging the dog bed under their head. “I thought you would appreciate it.”

“totally.” Sans tilted his head. “you want me to read you a bedtime story? or sing you a lullaby?”

Frisk laughed. They had never heard Sans sing before, not even in their timeline. “Can you actually sing?”

“no.” Sans walked over to the staircase, moving to go up to his bedroom.

"Will you actually try to, for me?"

Sans hesitated. He looked over his shoulder at them. "no."

"Too lazy to?" Frisk asked innocently.

Sans shrugged, giving them a wink with his dark eye socket. 

"For the one not sitting on the couch, you're a real couch potato."

Sans snickered, trying but failing to suppress his chuckles. "oh my asgore, go to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the late chapter, guys. Hopefully the updates will be more consistent now.
> 
> In order to amend for this lateness, I did do some sketches of this fanfic while on my holiday. I don't know if you guys would be interested in seeing them . . . ? Bear in mind that I don't have a scanner, and they would be all traditional art in my sketchpad so . . . I could put them up on my tumblr, which is currently sitting and doing nothing? Just a thought.
> 
> Also, this is unrelated, but the fourth season of Sherlock hasn't been released in New Zealand yet and I'm slowly going mad. Spoilers are everywhere. 
> 
> So, yes! Two soul pieces (that appear to bicker a lot), bad memories surfaced. Fun fun fun. And now, Frisk can sleep inside the house! 19 chapters of being in that dirty, damaged shed and now they're free! That's some pretty good developments.
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! I wonder what the next chapter has in store . . . ?
> 
> Heh heh heh.


	20. Late Night Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is awoken at midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE IT! J-JUST TAKE IT!

_CRASH!_

Frisk’s eyes snapped open, sleep quickly draining from their body as their brain came back online. They jolted upright, blinking quickly to adjust to the minute light. Their heart slowly pounding to a hammer, they were as still as a statue, not daring to breath.

 _What was that?_ they thought, their fingers twitching around the blankets they had clutched in surprise of their awakening. A spring from the green couch was poking at Frisk’s side. In the darkness of the house, they could see the outline of the trashcan in the kitchen. They didn’t risk turning their head.

Frisk frowned as they listened, waiting. _Maybe it was my imagination?_ They felt hot, the weight of Sans’s hoodie suffocating them with heat, sweat sticking on their skin. The two soul pieces jumped to awareness, both glowing their respective colours. The ribbon tied in their hair urged them to wait for the noise to occur again. The soul piece of Bravery urged them to go searching for it.

Frisk waited, alertness sending their nerves jumping at every creak and groan of the house.

Several minutes passed with no change. The human sighed and moved to lay down again, the touch of sleep still pulling at their eyes.

_BANG!_

Frisk jumped, the hidden coins and knickknacks lost in the cushions of the couch jangling in response. They turned their head, curiosity prickling at the edge of their mind. There was a light coming from upstairs, light seeping from the cracks of Papyrus’s bedroom door. Frisk scowled and looked to Sans’s door – it was open. The sounds _had_ to be coming from Papyrus’s room.

 _An intruder?_ Frisk thought, pulling back the blankets and rising from the couch. Their back ached in protest, sore from the few hours’ sleep on the lumpy couch. The sounds coming from Papyrus’s bedroom were akin to a fight; crashing, the sound of objects or people being tossed around the room. The only other person that would break into the house would be –

“Chara.” Frisk set off running towards the staircase, stumbling over their backpack and scattering paper as they went. They weaved past the large bone that sliced through the steps, quickly clambering up to the landing outside Papyrus’s door. Wasting no time, they wrapped their fingers around the handle and yanked the door open. Chara’s name was half-formed on their lips before they realised what they were seeing.

They could remember Papyrus’s room clearly, helped by the fact that the skeleton’s bedroom on the surface was almost identical to how it was in the Underground. A desk holding a computer had sat in front of a window, the closet to the left holding Papyrus’s clothes. A bookcase had housed an abundance of books, ranging from advanced puzzle books to children’s stories. A pirate flag had been stuck on the wall. Figurines had stood atop a wooden table next to Papyrus’s race car bed, which had been tucked in with neatness and care. A box of bones had occupied the corner, a rug decorated in flames covering the floor. The younger skeleton’s room had been spotless, clear and free of dust and grime.

Now, Papyrus’s room was in shambles. The bookcase had been tossed to the side, books littering the floor around it, the pirate flag – loosened from the wall – resting on top. Bones speared through the table, action figures thrown. Papyrus’s computer was on the ground, the screen smashed and cracked, the keyboard a few metres away with several keys dislodged. The window had shattered, pieces of glass strewn on the windowsill. The race car bed had been flung in front of the closet, a large femur through it, pinning it to the wooden door. The box that previously held bones was crumpled in a tight wad, the small bones scattered on the carpet. Dust covered the floor in heavy blankets, smaller sprinkles dancing in the corners of the room and in the air.

Frisk spotted Sans in the middle of the wreckage, slumped on his knees with his shoulders hunched, his phalanges digging into the fire rug on which he sat. He sat with his back to them, facing the thrown bed. They could hear his bones clacking.

“Sans . . .?” they asked tentatively, frowning at the sight of the skeleton. They coughed, waving their hand to ward off the dust. The air was heavy and languid. The room smelt of musk.   

The rattling of his bones suddenly quietened, and Sans looked over his left shoulder. “oh, heya, heh heh heh,” he greeted, chuckling tonelessly. His eye socket was leaking heavily, the fat droplets running down his skull and dripping onto his shoulder. His grin was stretched too wide, too painfully. Sans looked cheerful, yet forcefully so, the smile guarding his feelings in a façade. It was clear that something was wrong. “sorry, did i wake you?”

“You did this?” Frisk blinked in surprise. Neither the ribbon or the bandana expressed any indication of what to do; both were silent. “I thought that someone had broken in. Like, Chara or something.”

Sans shook his skull in an overly-enthusiastic, exaggerated manner. “nope. just little ol’ me. consider this as . . .” He paused, his cyan and yellow eye grazing over the damaged room – “. . . redecorating.”

The human looked around the room, their heart aching at the bedroom’s destruction. Papyrus would be horrified; his meticulous, clean room was damaged and dusty. Frisk recalled the spotlessness of the other rooms in the house. It was clear that Sans had cleaned, dusted and vacuumed regularly in those areas, but not Papyrus’s room?

“Sans, why–?”

“let me ask you a question, human,” Sans interrupted, his single eye falling on them. Even has he gazed at them, his vision appeared unfocused; both staring at Frisk and not at all. “do you miss your people? the monsters – your family – back in your timeline?”

Frisk stepped backwards, taken aback by his question. They closed their eyes, memories of their timeline flashing into the forefront of their mind. Papyrus and Undyne cooking every Sunday, the visits from the firefighters becoming less frequent each time. Toriel trying out a new recipe every day. Alphys staying up late every night watching anime, excitedly discussing her favourites with Frisk whenever they visited. Helping Asgore wrangle a rose bush, the monster lending them his only pair of gloves. The occasional road trip, Toriel and Sans firing puns off each other as they travelled, all while Papyrus was screaming at them to stop lest he turn the campervan around.

Frisk choked up, feeling as though their throat had been clogged up. They opened their eyes to see Sans still staring at them, his expression unchanged.

“Yes,” they replied softly, their voice no quieter than a whisper.

“and what does that feel like?” Sans asked.

“Like my soul is caught in a vice.”

The skeleton nodded and turned his skull back around. “then, you must understand.”

_Papyrus._

Sans’s youngest brother, the skeleton who believed in everyone, kindness with every bone. The relentless puzzles and love for making spaghetti, even though he never ate it himself. His dedication and determination, the commitment to stand outside Undyne’s door from midnight until morning for a position in the Royal Guard. His constant japes, his constant optimism. His constant bickering with Sans, arguing about puzzles or socks or puns. Papyrus’s pushing Sans to take up a job as sentry, nagging his brother to put in effort. Sans and Papyrus making his battle body together, Sans’s encouragement and protectiveness towards him.

Sans might have been the sole provider of the house, but Papyrus’s statement was true: what would Sans be, without such a cool guy looking after him? Sans’s coping methods may have been sleep and ketchup, but he lost a major one when they met the child in the green and yellow sweater.

Frisk carefully moved over to the skeleton, slowly so Sans was aware of their movements. He made no objection; his skull down and eye sockets lowered. They stepped over a fallen figurine and sat beside him to his left a metre away, giving him space.

This was their fault. Their little re-enactment the previous day had brought Sans bad memories, which clearly made him unleash his frustration and anguish on Papyrus’s room. For some reason, out of all the times Papyrus was mentioned by Frisk, this was the trigger, the catalyst that released Sans’s torment. Now, the skeleton sat in the wreckage of his brother’s room, most likely regretting his act of ‘redecorating’. The damaging of Papyrus’s personal space that was caused by Frisk.

“I’m sorry,” Frisk whispered, their fingernails digging into their palms. They set their eyes downcast, avoiding Sans in shame. Their soul was heavy; they felt as though it was sinking down the bottom of their ribcage, anchoring them to the floor.

In the corner of their eye, Sans turned his skull to them, tilting. “sorry for what?”

The human swallowed hard, still eluding his single, cyan and yellow eye. “I’m sorry about you witnessing . . . what I was doing. It was stupid. I knew that you would be wandering around, but still I acted out the conversation. I knew that it might upse—”

“kid, stop.”

Frisk was so surprised at Sans’s use of ‘kid’, that their speech faltered at once. They turned to look at him, finding him staring back at them with conviction.

“you have done _nothing_ wrong,” Sans asserted. His brow bones were met and his smile dipping at the corners, his expression stern and assured. “you don’t have to apologise for anythin’, all right?” His smile grew small, appearing more like a grimace.

“unlike me . . .” Sans added, his voice a mutter. The skeleton turned away, his eye leaving Frisk’s face and fixing firmly on the ground before him.

The human scowled, their eyebrows furrowing. “But, Sans, what would you have to –?”

“everything,” injected the skeleton, his tone as bitter as citrus. A bead of his magic dropped thickly onto the floor, seeping into the carpet. More of the viscous substance was flowing from his eye socket, streaking across his face and spilling onto his clavicles and white shirt.

For once, the soul piece of Bravery was silent, letting Patience advise Frisk instead. Both soul pieces understood that Sans didn’t need someone to rush along and push him. He needed someone that would wait and listen.

Frisk remained silent – patient.

“papyrus . . . papyrus was so cool,” Sans said eventually, after a few minutes had past. He still stared resolutely at the ground, rather than looking at Frisk. “he convinced me to take up a job as a sentry, tried motivating me to actually _do_ stuff. he was so kind, to everyone . . .” Sans paused, his smile twitching. “I told myself that i wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. but, then, the lady at the door happened.”

 _Toriel,_ Frisk thought. Back in their timeline, Sans had explained his interactions with their mother over dinner. He had made a promise not to harm any human that stepped out of the Ruins, instead protecting them on their journey. He had reluctantly agreed, stating that, if he had not made that promise, Frisk would be dead where they stood. Sans had passed it off as a joke, but it was clear to the seven-year-old Frisk that he was not kidding.

“judging by your expression, you know what i'm talking about.” Frisk looked up, finding that Sans had glanced over at them. Just as soon as their eyes met his single one, the skeleton looked away.

“so, i promised the lady to protect any human to leave the ruins. i hate making promises, because, no matter how careful i am, i always tend to break them.” Sans shrugged, though it was nonchalant. “just my luck, the human that exited the ruins happened to be the one who was going to murder everyone.”

Sans’s facial features twisted, his grin sour and his nasal cavity scrunching in a parody of one wrinkling their nose. “i'm not an idiot. i took one look at this human and i knew that they had killed every monster in the ruins. dust speckled their hands and clothes and they carried around a powdery knife. my instincts were screaming at me to dunk the human right there but –” Sans sighed, dragging a finger idly across the carpet – “i had to honour my promise to the lady.

“so, i didn’t kill them. instead, i watched them closely as they travelled through snowdin, monster numbers dropping drastically as they went. i cautioned paps about the human, but he was convinced that he could change them. make them stop doing ‘violences’. i warned the human not to fight him, but, what do you know? soon afterwards i found papyrus’s scarf in the snow.”

Sans’s bones were rattling from beneath his clothes, his phalanges digging into the rug more fiercely. His eye was leaking faster, the dripping increasing. “the christmas tree in snowdin? i took back papyrus’s present. the house was empty, and papyrus was dead. but, how did i feel? what did i do?”

Suddenly, a bone appeared above his right shoulder and, with a quick, angry swipe, it shot into the wall with a loud _thud._ Frisk managed to stop themselves from flinching. “i did nothing! papyrus was gone, killed, yet i did nothing. i did nothing until they – chara – reached the judgement hall. i didn’t help alphys horde monsters to safety, i didn’t help undyne fight them off . . . i made no move to help until it was too late. after living through as many timelines as me, one becomes remarkably apathetic.” Sans chuckled, but it was without humour.

“You didn’t do anything because of your promise,” Frisk commented, speaking at last.

Sans dipped his skull. “yes. i didn’t do anything because of my promise to the lady. but, what does that make me, when i put a promise with a random monster who’s name i don’t even know before the safety of the underground? before the safety of my brother?”

To that, Frisk had no answer.

Sans nodded, as though their silence affirmed it. “it makes me a pretty horrible person, right?”

“You’re not a horrible person.”

“don’t deny it!” Sans snapped suddenly, whipping around to them. His eye sockets were wide, his magic pouring violently from the left, running quickly down his skull. He looked crazed, desperate. “kid, i did _nothing_ to help the monsters. i just stalked that murderous brat, watched them as they slaughtered my own kind. i never raised a phalange to help.”

“You did at the end,” Frisk argued.

“and how did that go? horribly!” Sans threw up his hands in frustration, his smile a thin, pained line. “how virtuous of me, to only help when it is too late. to only step in when it is futile. to only interfere when i am one of the two monsters left standing. i fought chara for what felt like a decade. i would kill them, and then they would come back. they learnt my attacks and attack patterns. then, they incapacitated me with one stroke of their knife – enough to render me useless but not dead – and left me. they left me alone in the underground. i failed both monsterkind _and_ my promise.”

Frisk shook their head, but Sans pretended not to see, turning back around to glare at the ground. Half of his left eye socket was submerged in his oozing magic, his eye partially obscured.

“i was alone,” Sans continued, his voice softer than before. “i was alone in the underground, all the other monsters gone. everywhere i looked was a reminder of my failure to stop chara. the house was a nightmare incarnate. everywhere i walked, here, i saw and heard papyrus. i took away the sticky notes and the sock. i cleaned and vacuumed to sate his voice pounding at the back of my head. papyrus's room became a vessel for all those bad memories, and i locked it away, left it to collect dust in the dark. i had failed him – failed to protect him – just for a lousy promise with some random woman who enjoyed my puns.”

Tears pooled in the corners of Frisk’s eyes, but they paid them no mind. Now was not the time for their sadness, but for Sans’s. “You take your promises seriously.”

“yes. but to the extent that i would betray my own brother? surely, there’s something wrong with that.” Sans raised his hands to his face, hiding himself behind them. His bones were shaking profusely, a loud, reoccurring rattle. He had hunched into himself, crumpling like a ball of paper. His frame was quaking in conjunction with his bones, as if he was cold.

With no hesitation, Frisk shed Sans’s hoodie and held it in their hands. Carefully, they draped it over Sans’s shoulders, hoping that the familiar weight might comfort him. As Frisk retreated to their previous spot, Sans made no indication that he was aware of their action.

After several minutes, he removed his hands, his palms stained cyan and yellow. His leaking magic poured from his eye socket, peppering the ground with the mixture. “i was convinced that chara would come back, come back to finish me off.” Sans murmured. “they didn’t come. i waited weeks? months? years? i don’t know how long it was. my magic grew unstable, barely under my control. i was only alive because of that belief that chara would return. i was _fixated_ on it, _obsessed_ with it. it was my chance at redemption, you see. my chance of righting my wrongs by giving them a bad time, once and for all.”

Sans let out a deep sigh. He shook his skull sadly, the corners of his smile pricking upwards. “i did so many horrible things. me being alone in the underground, with everyone i care about gone, was my karma. my payback for all the terrible things i did.”

Frisk opened their mouth to object, to say something comforting. “But—”

“will you stop that?!” Sans interrupted, anger snapping at his voice. He had turned back to them, faster than their eyes could comprehend. His eye sockets were narrowed, his grin appearing more like a snarl. Frisk subconsciously leaned back a fraction; the intensity of his gaze was threatening, offensive. “stop saying that i'm not horrible! that the things i've done aren’t appalling? i said that i was going to protect my brother, but what did i do? i didn’t. i failed. i didn’t step in while chara was wreaking havoc, instead staying on the side-lines. yes, it was all for a promise, but – out of all the promises i’ve made – that one deserved to be broken.”

The skeleton glared daggers at them, his single eye boring into theirs like a drill. He eventually let out a deep exhale, his expression softening. His smile grew smaller and his eye sockets creased as he looked away, fixing his gaze on the carpet. Frisk’s eyebrows furrowed, relaxing their back.

“you out of all people should understand how repulsive i am,” Sans muttered in a voice so quiet, Frisk nearly missed it.

Confusion worked its way through their soul. “What?” Frisk queried, not understanding.

“kid, i was horrible to you, before. i attacked you when you fell, even though i knew that you hadn’t killed anyone. i pinned all the blame for the creation of this timeline on you, even though i could clearly see that you would do nothing of the sort. i stalked you throughout the day to scare and unnerve you. i tormented you and threatened you; i got angry at you for no reason.” As Sans rambled, he grew more distressed, his phalanges digging into the rug and his eye socket pouring. “i made you sleep in the cold, damaged toolshed. i thought that my behaviour towards you was justified, that i was punishing you for creating this timeline. i didn’t even have evidence to say that you had resetted, i just went with it. but, i had been treating you horribly _for no reason_.”

The skeleton turned away, his expression one of self-loathing. His leaking magic had drenched the front of his white shirt, drips falling onto his shorts. “i just want to say that i'm sorry, frisk. i had no right to behave as i did.”

Frisk ignored the fact that Sans had finally used their name, instead moving closer to him. Sans was hurt, wounded from his own scathing words. They put a hand on his shoulder, the bones from beneath his shirt quivering.

“Sans, look at me,” Frisk said, staring at the side of his skull. With great reluctance, Sans turned his head, his single eye struggling to meet theirs. His facial features were contorted, displaying deep shame. Sans needed comfort, reassurance, and Frisk was the one to do that.

They were filled with determination.

“I understood why you acted that way,” Frisk began. “I knew of the hardships you faced. You had faced so much, and there was a chance that I had caused it all. I never hated or loathed you for how you treated me. It may have been misguided, but I never took it to heart. I don’t blame you, Sans. I forgive you, even though, to me, there is nothing to forgive.”

Sans’s eye sockets crinkled, the magic dripping from his eye socket slowing to a trickle. The shaking of his bones quietened to a dull, faint clatter. His shoulder sagged. He released his grip on the rug.

“how can you be so understanding? so forgiving?” whispered Sans, his voice sounding oddly choked. The magic from his eye had become waterier.

Frisk shrugged, giving him a small shrug. They squeezed his shoulder lightly before drawing back their hand. Sans chuckled, shaking his head. Nevertheless, he appeared grateful. His hands crept up to his shoulders, as if he was suddenly aware of his hoodie that Frisk had given him. He wound his fingers through it, pulling it more around himself.

“I forgave Asriel for the things he did as Flowey,” Frisk said. “You are worthy of forgiveness too.”

Sans visibly stiffened, the clacking of his bones silencing at once. “he must regret the things he’s done, just as i have,” he uttered, his smile slim. He wiped at his eye socket, brushing away his seeping magic. “we have more in common with each other than i thought.”

Frisk gave him a chiding look, as if scolding a child. Catching their expression, Sans let out an exaggerated sigh.

“fine,” he consented, looking evidently unhappy. “i'll see about letting go of my grudge towards the goat. i guess i would be quite hypocritical if i didn’t.”

The human smiled, pleased. Sans raised his brow bones. The two fell into silence, neither one knowing what to say.

“kid, don’t blame yourself for this, all right?” Sans waved a hand, indicating to the destruction of Papyrus’s room. “seeing you act out that conversation between my bro and i . . . it just brought back some stuff. you didn’t know, so you can’t hold yourself responsible.”

The human blinked, looking away.

“that conversation that you re-enacted . . . well, it didn’t happen in this timeline.” Frisk looked back at him, surprised. “here, it was much shorter. papyrus didn’t even notice chara standing there, didn’t even recognised them as being a human. hearing how it went in your timeline, well, it made me mad at how _unfair_ this timeline is. i mean, your timeline sounds so . . . happy and carefree. you even _memorised_ that conversation, that’s how happy it made you. in your timeline, everything was just done right. everyone went up on the surface, including papyrus. he would have loved that.”

Frisk swallowed hard, trying to dispel the lump that had lodged in it. “He – uh – he did. He loved being up on the surface. Papyrus drove his car every day, took cooking classes, helped out with charities . . .”

Sans laughed, but his smile was sad. “he used to talk about that a lot.” He looked towards the race car bed, still upturned in front of him. His voice sounded wistful and filled with longing, as if he was imagining his brother on the highway, driving with the roof down, the wind on his skull. Frisk’s soul clenched painfully.

“We’ll get him to the surface,” Frisk said, filled with determination. “Following Asriel’s plan, we’ll bring back Papyrus and all the monsters. Then you can get to the surface, I promise.”

The human suddenly wrapped their arms around Sans, pulling him into a hug. Thankfully for their clothes, the magic on his shirt had dried. Sans, in surprise, froze like a statue, his arms out and stiff. He was stockier than an actual skeleton, enabling Frisk to hug him properly. His ribs prodded at their sides, but they didn’t mind. They burrowed their head into his shoulder.

Sans coughed, spluttering on half-uttered words. He was clearly taken aback by the hug, not knowing how to react. “uh, promises are dangerous, kid,” he eventually said, his voice thick and subdued.

“You can’t spell ‘Frisk’ without ‘risk’.”

“heh, right.”

Several long seconds passed, and, finally, Sans wrapped his arms around Frisk, returning the hug. “i realised that, on first glance, papyrus didn’t notice that chara was a human. my bro had pretty good judgement, so that must mean that they don’t count as a human. if they’re not human, then my promise to the lady still stands. you left the ruins, and you’re a human, so, i'm going to watch over and protect you.”

Frisk smiled. They dwindled into silence.

“Would you like me to help clean up Paps’s room?” they eventually asked.

Sans’s arms slackened. “yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might edit this chapter later, but, for now, I hope you enjoyed it? 
> 
> 100% friendship achieved! *Trumpet fanfare and confetti*
> 
> It can only go uphill from here . . . right?


End file.
